THE 


RAG-PICKER; 


OR 


BOUND   AND    FREE. 


NEW    YOEK: 
MASON     BROTHERS, 


28    PARK    ROW. 
1  855. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 

MASON    BROTHERS, 
lu  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court,  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York, 


STEREOTYPED  BY  PRINTED    BY 

THOMAS   B.   SMITH,  JOHN  A.  GRAY, 

82  &  84  Beekman  Street.  97  Cliff  St. 


PREFACE, 

FT1HE  pages  which  follow  are  a  record  of  facts, 
-L  simply,  from  the  experience  of  one  who  has 
been  the  eye  and  ear-witness  of  the  substance  of 
this  book. 

The  author  has  had  no  occasion  to  "  draw  upon 
imagination"  for  the  characters  ;  and  several  of  the 
principal  personages  alluded  to  are  of  those  who 
have  lived  and  passed  among  us  in  the  present  cen 
tury,  here  and  elsewhere. 

The  object  of  the  work  is  to  aid  in  keeping  alive 
the  march  of  progress  (though  the  means  are  ad 
mitted  to  be  sufficiently  humble),  that  is  now  cur 
rent  at  the  North,  the  South,  the  East,  and  the 
West  of  our  land ;  and  to  "  point  a  moral"  (in 
passing)  through  the  history  of  those  herein  named, 
who  have  suffered  from  the  abuses  portrayed. 

The  aim  of  the  writer  will  have  been  attained  if 
a  single  heart  may  be  touched  and  turned  from  the 
pursuit  of  the  manifest  errors  that  surround  the 
people  of  this  country.  If  the  perusal  of  this  vol- 


PREFACE. 


nine  shall  influence  a  single  individual  to  labor  more 
zealously  and  more  fervently  toward  removing  from 
our  legal  and  social  system  the  dark  blots  that  now 
unfortunately  stain  them,  I  shall  not  have  put  forth 
my  hand  in  vain.  And  if  the  truthful  history  em 
bodied  herein — the  history  of  suffering  and  wrong 
that  finds  many  a  parallel,  even  in  this  "  enlightened 
day/'  at  the  North  and  the  South — shall  cause  the 
erring  or  the  oppressive  to  repent,  and  "see  them 
selves  as  others  see  them/"'  some  small  share  of 
common  benefit  will  have  been  effected  by  this 
simple  narrative. 

In  the  humble  hope  that  good  may  result  from 
this  effort,  that  the  unfortunate  may  find  a  word 
of  consolation  within  its  pages,  and  that  it  may 
serve  in  some  measure  to  urge  the  friends  of  freedom 
and  reform  to  more  earnest  and  constant  endeavors 
for  the  improvement  and  weal  of  suffering  humanity 
among  us — the  work  is  submitted,  in  trust  and  good 
will,  by 

THE  AUTHOR. 
BosroN,  1855. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

MORNING  AT  THE  JUXK-STORE.  .  .  17 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  BURNING. .  21 


CHAPTER  in. 
THE  DELIVERANCE .     2G 


CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  LITTLE  STRAGGLERS .    33 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE  WILLING  SLAVE ,     39 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"THE  GOOD  DIE  YOUNG"  .  43 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PAGE 

A  NTHONY  BRITTAN 47 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  ELOPEMENT.  .  53 


CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  ELLSON  FAMILY 58 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  MINISTER  OP  MERCY.  .  ,     G6 


CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  INVALID  AND  HER  BABES 71 

CHAPTER  XII. 
BEDLAM 77 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
A  SURPRISE 87 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
THE  EXPLANATION 93 

CHAFFER  XV. 
A  RAY  OF  HOPE 99 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PAGE 

THE  UNWELCOME  VISITORS 105 


CHAPTER  XVH. 
THE  ARREST.  .  112 


CHAPTER  XVHI. 
A  LEGAL  FARCE.  .  118 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
TONEY  AND  CARRIE  ........................................  122 

CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  Two  SLAVES  .................................  .-  .......  130 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
THE  GOLDSMITH'S  CHARITY  .................................  138 

CHAPTER  XXTT. 

THE  KUSE  AND  THE  ESCAPE  .................................   146 


CHAPTER 
A  LOWLY  DEATH-BED  .....................................  154 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  PAUPER'S  GRAVE.  .  .  160 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

PAGE 

A  HOMELESS  BIRD 164 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
THE  LUNATIC  MOTHER.  .  167 


CHAPTER  XXVH. 
ANTHONY  BRITTAN'S  WARD.  .,          171 


CHAPTER  XXVHI. 
A  PEACEFUL  MESSENGER 175 

CHAPTER  XXTX. 
THE  WANDERERS 180 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
ANNIE  ELLSON'S  DREAM 185 

CHAPTER  XXXL 
THE  STRANGE  EESTORATION 190 

CHAPTER  XXXH. 
THE  DEBTOR  IN  PRISON 19-i 

CHAPTER  XXXHI. 
A  JOYFUL  MEETING .201 


CONTENTS.  XI 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

PAOH 

DAYLIGHT  BREAKING 20G 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
THE  THEODOLITE  MAKEE 210 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
NAPPO  DUROC 215 

CHAPTER  XXXVH. 
BHUTAN'S  KENTUCKY  HOME 219 

CHAPTER  XXXVHL 
A  QUESTIONABLE  INVESTMENT 223 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
THE  CATASTROPHE 228 

CHAPTER  XL. 
A  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE •. 234 

s- 

CHAPTER  XLL 
DIFFERENCE  OF  OPINION 239 

CHAPTER  XLH. 
THE  KECOGNITTON 2-44 


Xll  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XLHL 

PACK 

AULD  LANG  SYNE 250 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

NAPPO  AND  TONEY 254 


CHAPTER  XLV. 
A  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE 262 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 
A  DEBT  OF  HONOR  SETTLED 267 

CHAPTER  XLVIL 
THE  Two  QUADROONS 271 

CHAPTER  XLVHI. 
THE  TABLES  TURNING 279 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 
THE  OVERSEER'S  REVENGE 288 

CHAPTER  L. 
A  SECRET  INTERVIEW 294 

CHAPTER  LI. 

THE  GUARDIAN'S  PROPOSAL .  299 


I 

V\ 

CONTENT^. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

PAGE 

Two  WRONGS  SOMETIMES  MAKE  ONE  RIGHT 305 


CHAPTER  LIH. 

THE  STOLEN  CHILD.  .  , .  312 


CHAPTER  LTV. 

A  CHANGE  FOR  THE  BETTER.  .  ...  318 


CHAPTER  LV. 
NORA'S  DEPARTURE ...321 

CHAPTER  LVL 
BRTTTAN  AND  HIS  "  FRIEXD" 326 

CHAPTER  LVII. 
JULIE'S  PARTING  ADVICE 333 

CHAPTER  LVHI. 
THE  MIDNIGHT  DRITE 341 

CHAPTER  LIX. 
QUERIES,  DOUBTS,  AND  FEARS 346 

CHAPTER  LX. 

PASSING  THE  RUBICON .  353 


XIV  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

PAGE 
NEWS  FROM  THE  ABSENTEES 359 


CHAPTER  LXH. 

THE  ELLSON'S  AT  HOME.  .  , .  3G9 


CHAPTER  LXIH. 

"SlLVERPOOL".  .  ,  .   375 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 
ANNIE,  HENRY,  ANQ  TOXEY 382 

CHAPTER  LXV. 
SPECULATION  AND  PROMISE 387 

CHAPTER  LXVI. 
A  COLLISION 392 

CHAPTER  LXVH. 
FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 396 

CHAPTER  LXVIH. 
"  A  MAN  OVERBOARD" 400 

CHAPTER  LXIX. 

THE  NEW  HOME  OF  TOXEY  A\D  JULIE.  . .  .  403 


CONTENTS.  XV 


CHAPTER  LXX. 

PAGE 

THE  NEW  PROPRIETOR  AND  THE  OLD 406 


CHAPTER  LXXL 

A  HAPPY  NEW  TEAR.  .  , .  411 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 

THE  RAG-PICKER'S  STORY 


CHAPTER  LXXIII. 
THE  CONCLUSION.  .........................................  427 


THE    RAG-PICKER, 


CHAPTER    I. 


MORNIXG     AT     THE     JUNK-STORE. 


"There  is  a  variety  of  these  little  trades,  and  industries,  which  derive  their 
chief  means  of  life  from  the  wants  and  luxuries  of  the  Boulevards.  You  will 
see  an  individual  moving  about,  at  all  hours  of  the  night,  silent  and  active, 
and  seeing  the  smallest  bit  of  paper  in  the  dark,  where  you  could  see  nothing, 
picking  it  up  and  pitching  it,  with  amazing  dexterity,  into  a  basket  tied  to  his 
shoulder ;  with  a  cat-like  walk,  being  every  where  and  nowhere  at  the  same  time ; 
stirring  up  the  rubbish  of  every  nook  and  gutter  of  the  street,  under  your  very 
nose.  This  is  the  KAG-PICKER.  Ho  is  a  very  important  individual.  He  stands 
at  the  head  of  the  '  little  trades,'  and  is  looked  up  to  with  envy  by  all  the  others." 

SANDERSON'S  AMEEICAN  IN  PAEIS, 


THE  gray  streak  of  daybreak  was  just  visible  in  the  far-off 
east,  upon  a  clear  spring  morning  in  the  year  18 — ,  and  very 
few  persons  save  the  earliest  risers — the  watchmen,  the  most 
ambitious  of  the  mechanics  in  the  neighborhood,  and  a  well 
known  straggler  or  two — were  astir. 

At  the  lower  end  of  a  narrow  lane  that  led  from  one  of  the 
principal  streets  in  Boston,  down  to  the  wharves  at  the  north 
erly  extremity  of  the  city,  a  dimly-burning  light  could  be 
seen.  The  curious  observer,  who  might  feel  desirous  to  in 
form  himself  more  particularly  in  reference  to  the  surroundings 
of  this  indifferent  luminary,  could  have  learned  that  it  stood 


18  T  H  E     K  A  G  -  P  I  C  K  E  R, 

upon  the  head  of  an  iron-bound  cask,  in  a  small  junk-shop, 
the  proprietor  of  which,  if  he  ever  slept  at  all,  did  so  when  or 
dinary  mortals  would  least  suspect  it. 

The  individual  spoken  of  was  now  wide  awake,  and  await 
ing,  in  momentary  expectation,  the  arrival  of  certain  of  his 
agents,  who  would  shortly  report  themselves  at  this  "  bin," 
where  were  collected,  in  piles  about  the  low  rooms,  huge  quan 
tities  of  old  rags,  junk,  fragments  of  iron,  lead,  pumps,  blocks, 
and  every  conceivable  variety  of  trash  and  rubbish,  good,  bad, 
and  indifferent.  He  was  a  parsimonious  being,  and  his  ec 
centric  manner  was  peculiarly  noticeable  when  he  had  occa 
sion  to  speak,  for  he  articulated  with  curious  brevity,  and 
seemed  anxious,  at  all  times,  to  say  no  more  than  was  abso 
lutely  necessary ;  an  aged  man,  too — plainly  fifty  years  old,  or 
more.  He  had  been  a  professional  rag-picker  for  a  long  pe 
riod,  until  at  last,  having  acquired  a  small  sum  of  surplus 
capital,  he  hired  this  shop,  gave  up  the  more  laborious  part 
of  his  calling,  and  became  the  receiver  of  refuse  collected  by 
others,  who  followed  this  precarious  and  questionable  avoca 
tion.  This  individual  was  an  adept  in  the  business  he  had 
chosen,  and  his  long  experience  in  the  trade  rendered  him  a 
shrewd  and  skillful  manager.  For  many  a  year  he  had  en 
joyed  rare  opportunities  to  study  human  character,  in  all  its 
phases,  from  that  of  the  possessor  of  lordly  wealth,  to  the  ver 
iest  scullion  at  the  curb-stone ;  and  he  had  not  been  an  idle 
observer  of  men  and  manners,  as  they  passed  before  him.  No 
one  knew  aught  of  him,  however,  save  what  they  saw  from 
day  to  day ;  he  concerned  himself,  apparently,  with  no  one'.s 
affairs  beyond  his  own  sphere ;  and  so  he  lived  on,  unmolested, 
uncared  for,  and  alone,  from  year's  end  to  year's  end 


MORNING     AT     THE     JUNK     STORE.  19 

The  day  broke,  fairly,  at  length,  and  first  one  and  then  an 
other  of  his  host  of  employees  straggled  in,  each  -with  the  pro 
ducts  of  his  or  her  previous  four-and-twenty  hours'  wander 
ings,  and  a  motly  band  they  proved  ! 

A  popular  writer  avers  that  the  Parisian  rag-picker  "  is,  in 
matter,  what  Pythagoras  was  in  mind ;  and  his  transforma 
tions  are  scarcely  less  curious  than  those  of  the  Samian  sage." 
But  the  business  of  the  American  rag-picker  seems  to  em 
brace  even  a  more  varied  and  extensive  field  of  mercantile 
operations ;  and  he  improves  vastly  upon  his  Old  World  orig 
inal,  inasmuch  as,  while  being  quite  as  attentive  to  the  rag- 
gathering,  legitimately,  he  is,  also,  no  less  careful  to  possess 
himself,  en  passant,  of  every  thing  name  able,  from  which  he 
can  hope  to  realize  the  smallest  possible  profit,  whether  it  be 
rags,  paper,  iron,  copper,  lead,  silver — or,  indeed,  any  thing 
bearing  the  slightest  commercial  or  merchantable  value.  And 
thus  the  more  modern  chiffonnier  enlarges  his  sphere  of  use 
fulness  in  transformations,  far  beyond  the  capacity  or  the  ac 
complishment  of  his  ancient  prototype,  while  the  profession, 
at  the  same  time  (in  this  country),  is  not  limited,  strictly, 
either  to  sex  or  materiel. 

The  throng  who  came  to  and  departed  from  the  old  junk- 
shop,  on  the  morning  referred  to,  were  of  every  age  and  gen 
der,  and  the  shade  of  color  requisite  to  gain  them  access  to 
the  attention  of  the  wiry  old  receiver,  seemed  entirely  unim 
portant,  for  there  were  black  and  white,  as  well  as  old  and 
young,  great  and  small,  and  no  questions  were  asked  in  refer 
ence  to  where  they  hailed  from,  or  who  they  belonged  to.  In 
the  recognition  of  his  attaches,  the  ancient  rag-picker  desired 
no  certificate  of  previous  character ;  and  he  obtruded  no  ques- 


20  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

tions  as  to  the  antecedents  of  those  whom  he  chanced  to  fall 
upon  in  the  way  of  trade. 

One  by  one  they  approached  the  man  who  took  from  them, 
daily,  the  contents  of  their  sacks,  and  whr>  paid  them  down, 
in  ready  silver,  the  price  of  their  slovenly  booty.  The  rags 
were  duly  assorted,  and  thrust  into  larger  bags,  or  stored  in 
the  waste-room ;  the  bits  of  iron  hoops  and  nails,  and  broken 
horse-shoes,  etc.,  were  placed  in  the  great  tubs,  or  corners ; 
the  ropes  and  twine,  and  cords,  were  coiled  up  according  to  size 
and  length ;  the  copper  and  brass,  and  lead  fragments,  were 
disposed  of  upon  appropriate  shelves.  The  paying  off  suc 
ceeded,  and  the  happy  possessors  of  twenty,  forty,  or  fifty 
cents,  in  shining  coin,  departed  with  lightened  bags  and 
equally  lightened  hearts,  to  pursue  the  same  round  of  duty,  and 
to  return  upon  the  succeeding  day  for  a  similar  purpose,  after 
meeting  with  greater  or  less  success,  as  the  event  might  prove. 

Though  rough  and  forbidding  in  exterior,  this  strange  old 
man  possessed  a  warm  heart,  naturally ;  yet  he  was  the  very 
last  man  in  the  world  to  encourage,  directly  or  indirectly,  the 
slightest  approach  to  indolence.  The  really  needy  had  often 
been  secretly  benefited  through  his  instrumentality,  but  his 
charity  was  never  known  to  others,  for  he  selected  the  objects 
upon  which  it  was  bestowed  with  scrupulous  care. 

The  world  at  large  scoffed  at  him  and  his  calling.  But  he 
smiled  at  this,  and  was  content  that  he  was  then  compelled  to 
ask  no  favors  at  the  hands  of  his  fellows.  He  was  sinsailarlv 

O  t, 

rugged  in  constitution,  and  having  been  for  years  previously 
inured  to  all  sorts  of  weather,  and  to  all  kinds  of  harsh  treat 
ment,  he  snapped  his  fingers  at  opposition,  and  pursued  the  even 
tenor  of  his  wav,  as  if  his  course  lay  always  in  the  sunshine. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE     BURNING. 

Did  you  say  all  ?    All— 
At  one  fell  swoop  ? 

SHAKESPEARE. 

THE  rag-picker  was  old.  He  had  no  children,  no  family, 
no  dependencies,  of  any  name  or  nature.  He  tad  accumulat 
ed  what  property  he  had  by  means  of  "  hard  knocks,"  and  a 
lifetime  of  labor.  He  watched  the  comers  and  goers  that 
constantly  frequented  his  shop,  and  hoped  to  meet  with  some 
one,  sooner  or  later,  among  the  horde  of  people  he  met,  upon 
whom  he  could  rely,  and  who  might  be  worthy  to  succeed 
him,  perhaps,  when  he  should  be  called  away  from  earthly 
things.  But  for  years  he  looked  and  watched  in  vain. 

He  was  a  scrupulously  honest  man,  ingenious  and  skillful, 
but  careless  in  his  dealings  and  in  his  mode  of  life.  For  one 
so  situated,  this  might,  at  first  sight,  seem  a  paradoxical  as 
sertion,  yet  he  had  found,  in  a  life's  experience,  that  even  a 
rag-picker  could  be  a  man  of  integrity ;  and  as  he  had  none 
to  provide  for  but  himself,  he  did  not  exert  the  talent  that  he 
innately  possessed. 

Never,  to  his  knowledge,  had  he  been  the  receiver  of  the 
first  farthing's  worth  of  property,  either,  that  the  seller  did  not 


22  THEKAG-PICKER. 

come  honestly  in  possession  of.  There  was  no  wavering  in 
his  integrity,  and  he  never  saw  the  necessity  of  over-reaching 
those  with  whom  he  was  so  constantly  brought  in  contact. 
In  his  bargaining,  he  was  shrewd  and  close ;  but  in  all  his 
transactions  he  did  not  forget  his  moral  responsibility  to  his 
Maker,  and  to  his  fellow  men. 

He  made  no  .pretensions  to,  or  professions  of,  religion,  how 
ever.  His  time  was  passed,  almost  exclusively,  at  his  junk- 
store,  and  he  Avas  rarely  seen  away  from  its  immediate  neigh 
borhood.  Few  persons  seemed  to  take  any  interest  in  him, 
and  he  could  be  found  at  almost  any  and  every  hour  of  the  day 
or  night  in  his  little  old  shop,  adjusting  his  second-hand  wares, 
and  arranging  them  for  preservation  or  for  future  disposal. 

Directly  over  the  shop,  the  old  rag-picker  rented  two  small 
rooms,  and  in  the  rear  of  the  building  kept  his  wardrobe  and 
cash,  under  lock  and  key.  When  he  did  sleep,  he  occupied 
a  mattrass  in  another  of  these  back  rooms,  and  this  chamber 
was  the  repository,  also,  of  such  articles  of  small  bulk,  but 
greater  value,  as  he  chanced  to  purchase,  from  time  to  time, 
and  which  he  lodged  here  for  better  security. 

At  the  time  he  is  now  introduced  to  the  reader,  his  stock 
of  lighter  materials,  such  as  rags,  old  rope,  canvas,  paper,  and 
the  like,  was  unusually  large.  The  junk-shop  was  crowded, 
and  he  had  filled  it  up  rapidly,  of  late,  though  he  had  ar 
ranged  for  the  disposal  of  most  of  it,  and  it  was  already 
weighed  up  and  packed  in  bags,  preparatory  to  being  removed 
from  his  premises. 

He  had  paid  off  the  last  of  his  dependents,  who  had  de 
parted  like  the  rest,  and  the  sun  was  rising  gloriously  i  n  the 
east.  The  wind  was  blowing  fresh  from  the  westward,  and 


T  H  E     B  U  R  N  I  N  O .      .'  23 

the  rag-picker  extinguished  his  lamp,  ae  usual,  and  mounted 
the  stairs  that  led  to  his  little  room,  overhead — first  securing 
his  shop-door  on  the  inside — with  the  intention  of  getting  a 
nap  before  the  time  when  business  usually  commenced  upon 
the  wharves  and  vicinity. 

His  form  was  soon  extended  upon  his  low  pallet,  and  al 
most  as  quickly,  from  habit,  he  was  soundly  sleeping.  The 
night  guardians  had  just  left  their  beats  for  home,  and  very 
few  persons  were  moving  in  the  streets. 

The  old  man  dreamed.  He  dreamed  of  his  late  success 
in  trade,  and  he  saw,  in  his  fancy,  generous  heaps  of  silver 
and  gold  within  his  grasp.  He  smiled  as  he  thought  of  the 
hardships  he  had  passed  through  triumphantly,  and  as  the 
good  deeds  he  had  secretly  performed  arose  before  his  imagin 
ation  again. 

And  then  there  suddenly  appeared  a  cloud  before  him ;  a 
heavy,  portentous  darkness  succeeded ;  he  was  deeply  troubled, 
at  first,  but  still  he  slept  soundly.  He  gazed  upon  the  for 
bidding  mass,  and  its  threatening  blackness  alarmed  him.  He 
struggled  to  avoid  it,  for  it  seemed,  at  last,  about  to  burst 
upon  his  head !  He  trembled,  and  writhed,  and  shrank  from 
its  approach ;  but  on  it  came,  pressing  him  to  the  earth,  and 
burying  the  poor  old  man,  almost,  in  its  opaqueness.  His 
lungs  were  obstructed,  perspiration  stood  in  huge  drops  upon 
his  great  high  forehead,  and,  with  a  maddening  shriek,  he 
leaped  from  his  pallet  and  awoke — to  find  himself  completely 
enveloped  in  a  thick  cloud  of  heated  smoke,  that  had  well- 
nigh  suffocated  him  as  he  slept ! 

The  junk-shop  was  thoroughly  on  fire  below,  and  it  was 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  he  could  draw  his  breath. 


24  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

He  sprang  to  the  stairway  and  partially  opened  the  door,  but 
the  stairs  were  alive  with  crinkling,  livid  flames,  and  egress  in 
that  direction  was  impossible.  He  darted  to  the  only  win 
dow  in  the  little  room,  the  sash  of  which  he  quickly  raised, 
but  the  height  was  too  great  for  him  to  attempt  to  jump 
thence  to  the  ground. 

"  Fire  !"  shouted  the  rag-picker,  furiously ;  and  as  the 
smoke  had  already  been  seen  by  a  porter,  who  had  recently 
arrived,  and  was  just  opening .  a  store  in  the  vicinity,  the 
alarm  was  quickly  circulated,  and  "fire!  fire!"  fell  from  half 
a  score  of  lips,  almost  at  the  same  moment. 

The  old  man  was  soon  discovered,  and  a  short  ladder  was 
placed  against  the  side  of  the  burning  building  by  the  man 
who  had,  fortunately,  first  heard  the  alarm.  With  a  trem 
bling  step  he  placed  his  feet  upon  it,  while  the  stout  porter 
held  it  upon  his  shoulders  as  he  descended;  and  with  an 
earnest  "  thank  God !"  for  his  escape,  he  fled  from  the  heat  of 
the  flames,  that  were  bursting  from  every  quarter  of  the  build 
ing,  and  found  himself  free  from  serious  personal  harm. 

His  silver  watch,  that  hung  by  the  window  casement,  he 
had  not  time  to  secure,  even,  so  necessarily  sudden  was  his 
retreat ;  while  his  entire  property,  the  accumulation  of  years 
and  years  of  toil,  and  hardship,  and  economy,  on  the  part  of 
the  frugal  man,  was  entirely  and  irredeemably  destroyed. 

As  he  blew  out  his  morning  lamp,  it  was  supposed  that  a 
spark  must  have  fallen  in  among  the  tow  or  rope-yarns  that 
were  piled  about,  and  such  was  the  combustible  nature  of  the 
materials  in  the  shop,  when  once  the  fire  had  been  ignited 
among  them,  that  the  destruction  was  fearfully  rapid  as  well 
as  morally  certain ! 


THE     BURNING.  25 

He  had  been  engaged  in  his  present  business  over  a  score 
of  years,  and  had  never  thought,  scarcely,  of  such  a  thing  ;is 
an  insurance  policy ;  or,  if  he  had,  he  had  never  deemed  such 
a  provision  of  sufficient  consequence  to  him  to  take  one  out 
on  his  property !  He  "was,  himself,  always  in  and  about  his 
premises ;  he  trimmed,  lighted,  and  extinguished  his  lamp  with 
his  own  hands ;  the  buildings  in  the  vicinity  were  rarely  or 
never  lighted  up,  and  he  assumed  his  own  risk,  believing  it 
to  be  next  to  impossible  that  he  could  ever  be  endangered  by 
fire. 

This  procedure  was,  by  no  means,  in  accordance  with  the 
settled  rule  of  action  established  in  this  man's  shrewd  career ; 
but  he  looked  upon  the  sacrifice  of  the  premium  claimed  for 
insurance  as  money  needlessly  thrown  away,  at  least,  in  his 
instance ;  and  the  result  of  this  reasoning  added  an  important 
item  to  the  chain  of  bitter  events  in  his  checkered  experience  ! 

Nothing  was  saved,  and  the  gray-headed  rag-picker  was 

once  more  a  beggar. 

2 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE     DELIVEEANCE. 

Ho  hath  a  tear  for  pity,  and  a  hand 

Open  as  day  for  melting  charity ; 

Yet,  notwithstanding — being  incensed — bo's  flint  ! 

SHAKESPEARE,  Henry  IV. 

As  is  commonly  the  case,  under  such  circumstances,  and 
especially  in  that  locality,  so  noted  for  the  great  proportionate 
number  of  its  children,  the  burning  ruins  drew  together  a 
crowd  of  little  ones,  whose  parents  or  friends  dwelt  in  the  vi 
cinity  of  the  fire ;  and  before  noon  the  bulk  of  the  employees 
of  the  old  rag-picker  were  there,  too ;  some  of  them  from  a 
feeling  of  sympathy  for  their  late  patron's  loss,  some  \vith  the 
offer  of  aid,  others  from  natural  curiosity,  and  not  a  few  to 
pick  up  or  steal  what  might  fall  in  their  way. 

But  the  old  man  was  already  upon  the  qui  vive.  After  the 
smoldering  mass  had  settled  down,  and  the  worst  of  the  smoke 
had  begun  to  clear  up,  he  enlisted  the  services  of  half  a  dozen 
of  those  upon  whom  he  thought  he  could  depend,  and  com 
menced  to  clear  away  the  wreck.  It  was  a  slow  process, 
however ;  and  after  various  attempts  to  remove  some  portion 
of  the  fallen  and  charred  timbers,  it  was  found  that  the  heat 
was  so  great  that  it  was  impossible,  with  any  degree  of  safety, 


THE     DELIVERANCE.  27 

to  proceed.  Not  until  the  third  day  afterward  was  it  found 
practicable  for  the  old  man  to  overturn  the  remains  of  his 
property. 

Every  thing  that  was  ignitable  had  been  destroyed,  and  the 
excessive  and  long-continued  heat,  underneath,  had  so  melted 
and  scorched  the  metals  that  they  were  not  worth  the  trouble 
it  would  involve  to  rescue  them.  Still,  the  poor  man  strug 
gled  to  extricate  whatever  seemed  to  be  of  the  least  prospect 
ive  value ;  and  with  one  or  two  of  his  friends,  he  drew  out 
some  few  trifling  articles  that  he  contrived  to  preserve. 

It  had  come  to  be  nearly  dark,  and  most  of  the  lookers-on 
had  departed,  when  the  old  man's  attention  was  suddenly  di 
verted  from  his  work  by  hearing  the  screams  of  a  child,  be 
yond  him,  at  the  edge  of  the  dock.  The  noise  came  from  the 
lungs  of  a  boy,  some  six  or  seven  years  old,  who  was  shout 
ing  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "  Help,  mister !  quick,  quick  !  she's 
drownded,  she's  drownded !  quick — she's  drownded !" 

And  hastening  to  the  spot,  he  looked  into  the  dock  and  saw  the 
form  of  a  little  child,  just  sinking  below  the  surface  of  the  water. 

Instantly  throwing  off  his  hat  and  vest — for  he  had  been 
at  work  all  day  in  his  shirt-sleeves — he  sprang  overboard, 
and  quickly  held  the  almost  lifeless  form  of  a  sweet  little 
girl  in  his  grasp.  He  swam  across  the  dock  to  a  flight  of 
old  steps,  at  the  opposite  side,  and  soon  reached  terra  firma 
again,  with  the  child  in  his  arms. 

It  turned  out  that  the  little  straggler  was  more  alarmed 
than  injured,  and  with  a  little  rubbing  and  coaxing  she  soon 
came  to  herself,  though  she  was  desperately  frightened.  As 
soon  as  she  could  be  pacified,  the  old  man  brought  her  round 
to  the  other  side  of  the  pier,  and  said  to  the  boy : 


28  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  How 'd  it  happen?" 

"  She  fell  in,  sir,  she  did." 

"  And  what's  her  name  ?" 

"  Carrie,  sir." 

"  Carrie  ?     What  else,  besides  Carrie  ?" 

"  Carrie  Ellson,  sir." 

"  Where  d'  ye  live  ?"  added  the  old  man. 

"  In  Cross  street,  sir." 

"  Are  you  her  brother,  too  ?" 

"  Yes  sir ;  I'm  Toney.     Toney  Ellson,  sir." 

"  Well,  Toney,  go  home  directly,  and  " — 

"  I  darsn't,  sir !"  exclaimed  the  boy,  as  he  took  his  sister's 
hand  and  began  to  attempt  to  smooth  out  her  saturated  dress ; 
"I  darsn't,  he'll— he  '11  beat  me  so !" 

"  Who  '11  beat  you  8" 

"  My  father,  sir,"  and  the  tears  began  to  fall  from  his  eyes, 
in  showers.  "  He'll  beat  me  cos  I  come  here,  and  then  he'll 
beat  me  more  cos  I  let  Carrie  fall  in  the  dock.  Oh,  dear ! 
oh,  dear !"  continued  the  little  fellow,  mournfully,  "  I  donno 
what  to  do.  Carrie's  cryin',  too,  and  I — I — there  he  is  /" 
yelled  Toney,  in  despair,  as  he  looked  around  and  suddenly 
discovered  the  form  of  his  dreaded  parent  approaching  them  ; 
and  "  breaking  ground,"  without  further  ceremony,  he  sprang 
away  with  the  speed  of  a  fox,  up  the  wharf,  leaving  Carrie  behind, 
and  yelling  at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  again,  "  I  did  n't  do  it,  father ! 
I  did  n't,  I  did  n't !"  and  was  quickly  out  of  sight  and  hearing. 

"  I'll  fix  you — see  'f  I  don't,"  muttered  the  man  between  his 
teeth,  as  Toney  broke  away.  "  See  'f  I  don't,  then." 

And  approaching  the  trembling  little  girl,  he  seized  her  arm 
roughly,  when,  noticing  her  wet  clothes,  he  exclaimed : 


THE    DELIVERANCE.  29 

"  What  the  devil's  this  ?  Where  you  bin,  eh  ?  Didn't  I 
tell  you  not  tu  ?  Did  n't  I  tell  you  so,  eh  ?  Home  with  you, 
now.  I'll  see  'f  I  can't  make  you  mind,"  he  continued,  rudely 
pushing  the  poor  little  creature  on  before  him  ;  and  the  old 
man  was  pained  to  observe  that  this  stranger  was  deeply  in 
his  cups ! 

"  Are  you  the  father  of  'em  ?"  asked  the  old  rag-picker,  re 
spectfully,  of  the  other. 

"  Yes,  I  am.  Have  you  any — any  thing  'special  to  say 
against  that,  eh — ole  cockalorum?" 

"  No,  sir.     I  just  saved  that  little  girl's  life." 

"  Did  any  body — hie — ask  you  to  ?"  queried  the  man,  inso 
lently  and  ignorantly. 

"  She  was  drowning  in  the  dock,  yonder.  You  see  I'm  as 
wet  as  she  is.  I  sprang  in  and  rescued  her" — 

"  I  told  'em  not  to  come  here.  Serve  'em  right !  They  '11 
look  out,  next  time.  I'll  fix  'em — see  'f  I  don't,"  insisted  the 
poor  inebriate,  harshly,  as  he  turned  away,  with  his  little 
weeping,  terrified  daughter  clinging  to  him. 

The  rag-picker  said  nothing  more,  but  moved  up  the  dock, 
slowly,  dripping,  and  shivering  with  cold,  in  the  only  suit  of 
clothes  he  owned,  at  that  moment,  in  the  world.  He  gazed 
upon  the  smoldering  ruin  of  his  property,  shook  the  salt 
water  from  his  thin  locks,  and  thought  how  poor  he  was,  at 
that  hour !  But  as  his  eye  caught  the  receding  form  of  the 
miserable  father,  staggering  homeward  with  that  pretty,  but 
frightened  child,  he  could  not  avoid  exclaiming :  "  Bad  enough, 
to  be  sure  ;  bad  enough !  but  not  so  bad  as  that,  thank  God  !" 

The  old  man  thrashed  his  arms  upon  his  body,  and  stood 
up  nearer  to  a  portion  of  the  still  burning  and  heated  ruins, 


30  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

to  warm  his  drilled  limbs,  and  to  dry  liis  wet  clothes.  In 
his  purse  he  had  a  few  dollars  yet,  but  this  was  all  he  had 
left  in  the  world,  save  a  stout  heart  and  a  willing  hand.  Se 
curing  his  hat  and  vest,  at  length,  he  slowly  wandered  up  the 
lane,  turned  into  Cross  street,  and  began  to  search  for  a  halt 
ing-place  for  the  night,  for  he  was  sadly  wearied  with  his 
past  three  days'  exposure  and  exertion. 

As  he  passed  along,  he  overheard  a  struggling,  and  the 
confused  jargon  of  several  voices,  within  a  small  tenement 
near  him ;  and  as  he  halted  to  listen,  he  thought  he  could 
distinguish  the  anxious  entreaties  of  a  female,  and,  amid  all, 
the  cries  of  children.  Then  he  heard  imprecations  and 
threats,  and  harsh  blows,  and  then  a  fall,  and  shrieks  of 
terror. 

The  little  boy  who  had  accompanied  the  child  to  the 
dock,  very  well  knew  his  father's  disposition ;  and,  when  he 
fled  from  the  scene  that  had  come  so  near  proving  fatal  to 
his  sister,  he  feared  to  venture  home,  for  he  also  knew  what 
would  succeed  his  arrival  there,  if  his  father  were  present. 
So,  like  the  experienced  general,  who  deemed  the  better  part 
of  valor  to  be  discretion,  he  made  a  Avide  circuit  in  return 
ing  to  the  house,  in  the  hope  that,  by  such  a  delay,  he 
would  dodge  his  fractious  parent,  Avho  did  not  pass  much 
of  his  leisure  in  the  companionship  of  his  family.  But  To- 
ney  committed  an  error  in  his  reckoning,  for  when  he  did 
arrive,  his  father  was  in  waiting  for  him. 

Lost  to  all  parental  feeling,  long  since,  he  tarried  for  no 
explanation,  but  at  once  commenced  a  terrible  chastisement 
upon  the  little  fellow,  in  the  performance  of  which  he  was 
zealously  engaged  as  the  old  rag-picker  came  up.  A  woman's 


THE    DELIVERANCE.  31 

voice  was  heard  in  the  midst  of  the  melee,  beseeching  the  ine 
briate  to  spare  poor  Toney,  but  evidently  to  no  good  purpose. 

"  It 's  no  business  o'  mine,"  muttered  the  old  man,  stopping 
at  the  half-opened  door,  "  but" — 

Following  the  dictates  of  his  better  nature,  at  the  same  mo 
ment,  he  sprang  into  the  entry,  thrust  aside  the  flimsy  screen 
that  concealed  the  inner  apartment,  and  mounted  a  short 
flight  of  stairs,  where  the  confusion  and  quarrel  was  enacting. 
lie  seized  the  raving  belligerent  in  his  stout  arms,  just  as  he 
was  in  the  act  of  dealing  poor  Toney  a  furious  blow  with  his 
clinched  hand ;  and  before  the  offender  had  time  to  know 
how  the  act  was  accomplished,  he  found  himself  upon  the 
sidewalk. 

"Who 're  you!"  demanded  the  infuriated  father,  turning 
fiercely  upon  his  assailant. 

The  light  from  the  street  lamp  shone  full  in  the  rag-picker's 
face,  and  the  panic-stricken  parent  instantly  recognized  the 
person  who  had  lately  saved  his  daughter  from  drowning. 

The  old  man  only  replied  to  his  query  in  his  usually  laconic 
manner,  by  asking : 

"Are  you  a,  father?" 

But  the  peculiar  emphasis  of  this  question,  the  firm  and 
unflinching  bearing  of  the  stranger,  and  the  evidence  which 
the  erratic  man  had  already  experienced  of  his  personal 
strength,  had  the  effect  of  cowering  him,  for  an  instant ;  and 
as  they  stood  there,  a  watchman  came  up,  leisurely.  He 
stopped,  looked  at  the  excited  offender,  whom  he  evidently 
knew,  and  said : 

"What  now,  Harry?" 

The  old  man  briefly  explained  the  scene  that  had  just  passed 


32  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

within  doors,  at  which  the  night  guardian  smiled,  and  added, 
"  This  is  the  old  story  !  You'll  hev  your  hands  full,  my  friend, 
ef  you  try  to  stop  this  sort  o'  thing  here.  Come,  Harry ; 
come  along  wi'  me,  an'  cool  off." 

And  with  this  brief  remark,  uttered  in  a  careless  tone,  the 
city  officer  drew  the  man  away,  and  left  the  rag-picker  upon 
the  sidewalk,  alone,  to  his  reflections. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     LITTLE     STRAGGLERS. 

"  They  were  two  blossoms,  bright  and  fair 
As  morning  sun,  or  evening  star." 

A  PEW  days  subsequently,  the  aged  rag-picker  had  cleared 
up  the  wreck  of  his  late  establishment,  and  found  that  there 
was  nothing  remaining  to  fall  back  upon.  This  was  a  se 
vere  blow  to  him,  for  he  was  too  old  now  to  endure  the  expo 
sures  and  the  hardships  incident  to  the  calling  which  had 
originally  furnished  him  with  the  means  to  set  up  his  junk- 
shop.  No .  friends  came  forward,  with  ready  purse  and  open 
palm,  to  assist  the  sufferer,  however,  and  he  saw  that  he  must 
return  once  more  to  the  drudgery  of  his  trade,  or  starve ! 
This  latter  alternative  was,  by  no  means,  in  accordance  with 
his  notions,  aged  and  infirm,  comparatively,  though  he  was ; 
and  putting  the  best  possible  face  upon  it,  he  took  his  bag  and 
staff  again,  and  accepted,  without  murmuring,  the  hard  por 
tion  which  Fate  awarded  him  in  his  declining  years. 

He  had  made  himself  a  thorough  master  of  his  peculiar 
"  profession,"  in  days  long  gone  by,  but  for  a  number  of  yeara 
he  had  confined  himself  to  the  business  of  the  junk-shop. 
When  he  now  resumed  his  old  habits,  therefore,  he  found  that 
serious  changes  had  occurred  in  the  details  of  the  work, 

2* 


34  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

The  more  profitable  localities,  and  the  haunts  that  in  his 
younger  days  he  had  frequented,  daily,  had  vanished.  New 
buildings  and  rows  of  modern  dwellings  occupied  the  old 
squares  and  great  yards  that  he  once  knew.  The  market 
places  were  filled  up,  scores  of  new  faces  met  him  at  every 
turn,  competitors  in  the  gathering  and  reception  of  stray 
tit-bits  fell  constantly  in  his  way,  and  the  chances  for  saving 
any  thing,  beyond  Avhat  was  required,  absolutely,  to  "  keep 
soul  and  body  together,"  he  now  found  to  be  very  indiffer 
ent.  Yet  the  old  man  jogged  along  upon  his  weary  rounds, 
and  hummed  the  same  old  chant  that  had  served  him  to 
drive  away  dull  care  in  years  long  past  away.  And,  not 
withstanding  his  age,  and  the  difficulties  he  was  compelled 
to  battle  with,  he  soon  became  contented  with  his  lot,  and 
followed  up  his  humble  avocation  with  zeal  and  alacrity. 

Occasionally,  he  had  met  the  two  little  children  to  whom 
he  had  been  so  singularly  introduced  when  he  saved  the 
girl  from  drowning ;  but  he  was  now  changed  in  his  dress, 
and  he  had  suffered  his  gray,  frousy  beard  and  hair  to 
grow  long,  and  they  did  not  know  him.  He  had  several 
times  crossed  the  path  of  the  inebriate  father,  too — whom  he 
had  chanced  upon  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night— some 
times  in  the  gutters,  where  the  old  man  was  searching  for 
scraps  of  iron  or  rags ;  sometimes  he  encountered  him  reel 
ing  homeward,  beneath  the  eaves  of  the  houses,  groping  along 
and  hanging  by  the  doors  and  projections,  to  steady  his  tot 
tering  steps;  often  he  found  him  asleep  in  the  rum-haunts 
which  the  fallen  man  visited,  and  where  the  rag-pickers  called, 
from  day  to  day,  to  overhaul  the  dust-heaps ;  but  he  did  not 
recognize  the  man  who  had  once  interfered  to  save  him 


THE     LITTLriv.  STR  A  G  G 

\v 

fix>m  dealing,  perhaps,  a  dcathr-blow  upon  his  harmless  little'  ' 
son ! 

The  children  of  Henry  Ellson — Anthony  and  Clara  (who 
had  been  called  Toney  and  Carrie  from  infancy) — passed  a 
good  part  of  their  tune  in  the  streets,  of  late,  for  the  mother 
had  long  been  in  delicate  health,  and  the  father  had  no  con 
trol  whatever  over  them,  in  consequence  of  his  dissolute  and 
reckless  habits  of  almost  constant  intemperance.  And  yet 
these  two  little  wanderers  were  pretty  creatures,  and  extra 
ordinarily  well-behaved,  considering  their  unhappy  circum 
stances  in  life. 

Toney  was  a  bright  boy,  and  possessed  a  remarkably 
amiable  disposition,  while  Carrie  was  the  pet  of  all  who  knew 
her,  in  the  poor  neighborhood  where  they  dwelt.  She  was 
affectionate,  playful,  forward  for  her  years,  considerate  and 
manageable,  and  possessed  one  of  the  sweetest  faces  in  the 
world.  Her  eyes  were  as  "  black  as  night,"  and  her  petite 
but  graceful  little  figure,  her  gentle  loving  smile,  and  her  apt 
manner  of  speech,  attracted  attention  whereever  she  was 
seen.  The  old  man,  who  chanced  to  save  her  life,  had  never 
forgotten  her  singularly  beautiful  face  and  features,  nor  had 
he  lost  sight  of  her,  for  a  whole  day,  from  the  hour  when  he 
rescued  her  from  the  water. 

It  was  out  of  his  power  to  aid  them  in  any  Avay,  however. 
He  passed  them  in  the  streets,  often,  and  he  always  had  a 
kind  word  for  "  pretty  little  Carrie,"  as  he  called  her;  and 
occasionally — very  rarely,  for  he  could  ill  afford  the  luxury — 
lie  placed  some  penny  bon-bon,  or  an  apple  in  Carrie's  hand. 
When  he  chanced  to  meet  her,  as  he  sometimes  did  alone — 
he  would  sit  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  walk,  or  on  a  neigh- 


36  THE    RAO-PICKER. 

boring  step,  and  chat  with  her.  And  Carrie  would  sing  to 
him.  And  the  old  man  came  to  love  her  dearly  at  last.  And 
she  became  very  fond  of  him,  too,  in  spite  of  his  forbidding 
contour,  his  huge  old  bag,  and  his  dusty  apparel.  When  he 
rose  to  leave  her  she  would  follow  her  ancient  friend,  for  a 
long  distance  from  home,  and  he  would  then  take  her  up  in 
his  arms  and  bear  her  back  again,  and  kiss  her  as  he  left  her 
near  her  miserable  father's  door,  and  promise  to  come  again 
next  day. 

Thus  for  weeks  and  months  the  old  man  came  and  went, 
always  with  a  kindly  smile  and  pleasant  words,  but  never 
once  communicating  with  either  of  the  parents — of  whom  he 
knew  nothing  except  what  he  had  casually  learned  of  the 
father's  habits. 

The  name  he  was  known  by  was  David,  simply.  And  he 
taught  his  juvenile  friend  to  call  him  "Davy."  His  com 
panions  had  been  accustomed  to  hail  him  as  Old  Davy,  for 
years  ;  but  what  his  other  name  might  be,  or  whether  he  had 
any  at  all,  seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  the  utmost  indifference  to 
all  who  met  him ;  and  as  he  never  had  occasion  to  affix  his 
signature  to  note  or  bond,  the  matter  had  long  since  become 
quite  as  immaterial  to  himself  as  to  others. 

But  winter  came  round  at  last,  and  the  streets  were  filled 
with  snow,  and  the  raw  winds  blew  cheerlessly  and  cold. 
Yet  -still  the  rag-picker  continued  his  customary  rounds, 
though  with  less  success  than  during  the  warmer  weather. 
The  rubbish  from  the  stores  and  houses  was  thrown  into,  or 
covered  up,  by  the  snow  and  ice,  and  the  chances  of  finding 
a  stray  horse-shoe  were  greatly  lessened  for  the  time  being. 
And  Carrie  was  seldom  seen  in  the  street,  and  old  Davy's 


THE     LITTLE     STRAGGLERS. 

duties  became  irksome  and  cheerless.  But  one  warm  after 
noon,  during  a  thaw,  he  suddenly  espied  his  little  favorite 
trotting  down  the  walk  to  meet  him,  and  he  was  greatly  re 
joiced  to  see  her. 

As  night  came  on,  after  passing  an  hour  with  her,  he  rose 
to  proceed  on  his  weary  way,  and  said,  "  Now,  Carrie,  I  must 
go." 

"  Me,  too  ?"  queried  the  little  innocent,  looking  affection 
ately  up  into  the  old  man's  face. 

"No,  darling,  not  now." 

"Why  not  now?" 

"  Some  other  time.     To-morrow — next  week." 

"  No,  now"  insisted  Carrie,  clinging  to  old  Davy. 

"  But  it  is  too  cold,  love.     You  would  freeze." 

'•'•You  won't  freeze !"  argued  Carrie ;  "you  won't,  Davy." 

"  No ;  I  'in  used  to  the  cold,  you  see,  and — " 

"  You  would  n't  let  Carrie  freeze,"  continued  the  little  girl, 
archly,  "  would  you,  Davy  ?" 

"  No,  sweet,  no  !     But—" 

"  You  can  take  me  to  your  fire,  Davy." 

"  I  have  no  fire,  darling." 

"  No  fire  /"  exclaimed  Carrie,  astonished  at  this  announce 
ment,  and  not  realizing  that  other  people  in  the  world  might 
possibly  be  poorer  even  than  her  friends  were.  "  No  fire,  Davy  ?" 

"  No,  love,  no." 

"  How  d'  you  warm  yourself  ?" 

Davy  smiled  at  this  final  query,  but  evaded  it,  and  raising 
the  child  in  his  arms,  said,  "  don't  you  recollect  the  bon-bons, 
Carrie,  and  the  warm  sunshine,  and  the  green  trees,  and  gar 
dens  of  last  year  ?" 


38  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  Oil  yes,  yes,"  responded  Carrie  joyfully,  "  I  'member." 

"Well,  they'll  come  again,  by  and  by.  The  snow  will 
soon  melt  away,  and  the  streets  will  be  dried,  and  the  flowers 
will  spring  up,  and  the  birds  will  sing — " 

"  And  me,  too — me,  too  !"  shouted  Carrie,  interrupting  the 
old  man  at  this  point,  remembering  .that  Davy  loved  to  hear 
her  sing,  quite  as  well  as  she  did  the  birds. 

"  And  then  you  shall  go  with  Davy,  sometimes,  if  you  will ; 
but  not  now,  in  the  cold,  hard  snow." 

"  JSTo,  no,"  replied  Carrie,  contented  with  this  far-away 
promise,  "  not  now." 

"  Will  you  sing  me  one  of  your  little  songs  before  you 
leave  me  now,  Carrie  ?"  asked  the  old  man  affectionately,  as 
they  approached  her  humble  home  again.  And,  without 
further  urging,  the  gentle  creature  instantly  chanted  forth,  in 
a  subdued  but  sweet  tone,  intended  only  for  old  Davy's  ear, 
as  they  moved  slowly  along,  one  of  the  pretty  songs  he  so 
much  loved,  and  which  she  had  been  taught  by  her  mother. 
As  she  concluded  it  they  reached  the  door  of  her  dwelling, 
when  Davy  imprinted  a  warm  kiss  upon  her  fair  forehead,  and 
left  her,  with  the  promise  soon  to  see  her  again. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE     WILLING     SLAVE. 

A  wandering,  weary,  worn,  and  wretched  thing! 
Scorched,  and  desolate,  and  blasted  soul — 
A  gloomy  wilderness  of  dying  thought ! 

KOBEET  POLLOE. 

Urox  a  cold  and  dreary  -winter's  night,  soon  after  this 
meeting  between  old  Davy  and  the  child,  a  poor  and  feeble, 
but  still  beautiful  woman,  who  had  seen  some  four-and-twenty 
years,  only,  lay  upon  a  pillow  of  sorrow  and  suffering,  in  a 
dilapidated  house,  at  the  northerly  extremity  of  the  street 
where  they  parted.  The  avenue  in  which  this  scene  is  locat 
ed  ran  out  from  one  of  the  principal  thoroughfares  of  the 
town,  and  was  in  no  wise  remarkable,  except  from  the  fact 
that  it  led  directly  to  the  then  established  ferry  to  Chelsea, 
and  through  which,  from  time  to  time,  there  was  a  flow  of 
travel  eastward,  that  rendered  it,  occasionally,  during  each 
four-and-twenty  hours,  somewhat  busier  than  other  streets  in 
that  vicinity. 

The  bell-tongue  in  the  "  Old  North"  church-spire  had  just 
pealed  out  the  hour  of  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  sorrowing  moth 
er,  with  a  newly-born  infant,  but  a  few  days  old,  beside  her, 
still  writhed,  amid  her  agony  of  mind  and  body,  upon  the 
humble  pallet  she  occupied. 


40  T  II  E     U  A  G  -  P  I  C  K  K  R . 

This  woman  had  experienced  the  brighter  days  of  romance 
and  happiness,  in  previous  years,  for  she  had  been  united  in 
marriage  to  the  man  of  her  choice,  and  for  a  goodly  period 
thereafter  had  known  little  of  care  or  serious  trouble.  But  the 
Destroyer  at  length  entered  the  hitherto  comfortable  and  joy 
ous  household,  and  the  peace  of  the  little  family  was  periled  ! 

At  the  dismal  hour  spoken  of,  upon  one  of  the  most  miser 
able  nights  of  that  inclement  season,  while  the  mother  was 
thus  prostrated  and  exhausted,  there  approached  this  ancient 
dwelling  a  man  who  reeled  slowly  along  the  pavement,  now 
halting  a  moment  on  the  way  to  sustain  himself  by  the  lamp 
posts,  and  then,  with  fresh  courage,  staggering  on  again  in 
search  of  the  door  of  his  tenement,  which  he  nearly  reached, 
at  last.  But  the  walk  was  icy,  and  the  traveler  had  little 
control  of  his  limbs,  seemingly,  for,  near  the  low  archway  that 
led  to  his  house,  he  staggered  forward  and  fell  heavily  to  the 
earth. 

He  might  have  lain  there  to  die,  amid  the  sleet  and  cold, 
but  for  the  timely  approach  of  a  stranger,  who  was  hurrying 
down  to  the  last  ferry-boat  for  the  night,  who  kindly  raised 
him  up,  and  bade  him  hasten  home,  lest  he  should  perish. 

"  Who  're  you  ?"  asked  the  unfortunate  inebriate,  in  an  inco 
herent  and  rude  manner.  "  Who  're  you  ?  P'raps  you  '11  find 
it  prof'able  to  go  home — 'ic — yerself,  and  not  be  meddlin' 
Avith  geu'lemen — //ew'lemen,  that  ask  no  favors  o'  nobody !" 
And  after  this  slightly  dignified  ebullition,  as  the  "  gentleman" 
exhibited  unmistakable  evidence  of  determined  pugnaciousness 
toward  the  stranger,  the  latter  pressed  him  gently  back  against 
the  house-wall  behind  him,  and  hurried  along,  leaving  the 
drunken  man  talking  and  chaffering  to  the  winds. 


THEWflLLINC*     SLAVE.  41 

' »  v  \  \ 

" I'll  show  you"  continued  the  poor  man,  as  he  brandished 
his  arms  awkwardly  about,  "  that  I'm  not  to  be  imposed  on, 
by  nobody,  nowhere ;"  and  throwing  out  his  firmly-clinched 
hand,  he  dashed  a  furious  blow  at  vacancy,  and  fell  forward 
again,  upon  the  hard  ground. 

But  he  rallied,  and  after  numerous  efforts  to  get  into  his 
own  habitation,  first  by  way  of  the  cellar  door,  then  by  the 
low  front  windows,  and  finally  by  the  proper  entrance.  He 
tumbled  in  at  the  principal  doorway,  dragged  himself  heavily 
up  the  creaking  staircase,  and  staggered  into  the  chamber  of 
his  sick  and  troubled  wife. 

"  Who 's  that  ?"  queried  the  poor  woman,  as  she  started 
from  the  slumber  she  had  momentarily  fallen  into. 

"  Me,  Annie,"  responded  the  wretched  husband  ;  "  on'y  me, 
that 's  all — 'sh !"  And,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  almost  totally 
stultified  condition,  the  inebriate  seemed  for  a  moment  to-  feel 
that  it  was  requisite  that  Annie  should  be  kept  quiet. 

He  was  covered  with  snow  and  ice,  and  his  garments  were 
saturated  with  sleet  and  rain,  for  he  had  been  exposed  to  the 
storm  for  three  hours  previously  to  his  return  home.  His 
sympathy  for  his  "  poor  Annie,"  as  he  called  her,  and  his  dis 
cretion,  exhibited  themselves  but  for  an  instant,  however ;  and, 
dead  to  further  thought  or  consideration — having  reached  his 
sleeping  apartment — he  threw  himself  upon  the  bed,  beside 
his  critically-conditioned  wife,  and,  without  removing  a  single 
shred  of  his  wet  clothing,  was  soon  lost  in  heavy  sleep. 

The  poor  endeavors  of  the  wretched  woman  to  waken  him 
were  utterly  fruitless,  albeit  she  quickly  discovered  the  jeop 
ardy  to  which  she  was  subjected  by  contiguity  with  the  chill 
ing  dampness  of  his  dress.  The  thin  and  ragged  coverlets 


42  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

•were  but  a  scanty  protection  to  herself  and  babe,  at  the  best ! 
And  soon  the  melting  ice  and  snow  penetrated  through  the 
bed-clothes,  to  her  increased  terror  and  discomfort ;  but  the 
body  of  her  husband  was  like  a  mass  of  lead,  and  a  heavy  la 
bored  breathing  was  the  only  reply  she  obtained  to  her  pite 
ous  warning  and  remonstrances, 

"  Henry ! — Henry  !"  she  cried,  in  her  misery ;  "  pray  remove 
him  !  Henry,  for  God's  sake,  do  not  thus  murder  us  !  The 
baby,  Henry !" 

But  the  tones  of  her  voice  grew  weaker.  And,  alone,  at 
midnight,  as  with  a  feeble  hand  she  endeavored  to  press  her 
new-born  infant  closer  to  her  bosom,  lest  it  should  be  suffoca 
ted  by  his  weight,  poor  Annie  fainted  with  her  exhausted  ap 
peals  to  her  miserable  and  prostrate  husband ! 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"THE    GOOD    DIE    YOUNG." 

THE  man  had  lain  an  hour,  nearly,  upon  the  outside  of  the 
sick  wife's  bed,  when  Dolly  Curtain,  a  poor  needle-woman, 
who  occupied  chambers  on  the  other  side  of  the  old  house, 
and  who  had  been  up  with  Annie  Ellson  to  within  a  few  mo 
ments  prior  to  her  husband's  coming,  re-entered  the  silent 
apartment,  half  en  deshabille,  to  look  after  the  suffering  young 
wife's  condition,  whom  she  knew  to  be  critically  situated. 
Her  surprise  was  great,  and  her  disgust  much  greater,  at 
discovering  the  form  of  Ellson  stretched  upon  the  bed  which 
she  had  striven,  an  hour  previously,  to  render  somewhat  com 
fortable  to  the  unfortunate  young  wife,  with  whom  she  alone 
sympathized. 

"Ow!n  ejaculated  the  woman,  startled  from  her  propriety 
by  this  sight,  and  quite  as  nervous,  too,  on  account  of  having 
forgotten  to  leave  her  own  night-cap  behind  her ;  "  wot's 
this?" 

At  the  exclamation  Annie  started,  for  she  had  recovered 
from  her  faintness,  and  had  again  fallen  asleep.  But,  as  no 
reply  was  vouchsafed  by  the  soundly-sleeping  Ellson,  Dolly 
halted,  pressed  her  hand  upon  her  mouth  as  if  to  prevent  the 


44  THEUAG-PICKKR. 

uttering  of  what  she  feared  would  tremble  from  her  lips,  any 
way,  and  drawing  an  old  shawl  about  her  thin  and  scrauny 
shoulders,  she  advanced  softly  again,  and  said : 

"  How  are  you  now,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Bad,  Dolly,  bad  !"  murmured  Annie,  feebly. 

"  Wy,  the  clo'es  is  wet  through  and  through,  ma'am !" 

"  I  could  n't  help  it,"  continued  the  sufferer. 

"  How  come  it  ?  Wy,  it 's  ice,  if  I  live  ! — ugh  !  you  mis- 
'able  brute,"  she  continued,  now  turning  her  attention  to  the 
listless  husband,  to  whose  condition  she  quickly  attributed  the 
outrage.  "  It 's  a  pity  you  had  n't  me  to  deal  wi'  you,"  she 
added,  seizing  Ellson  by  the  shoulders  stoutly,  and  rolling  him 
over  upon  the  carpetless  floor  of  the  chamber.  "  I  'd  1'arn 
you  better  fashion,  or  my  name  arn't  Dolly  Curtain  ;  that 's 
all !" 

"  Don't  "hurt  him,  Dolly — don't"  piteously  cried  Annie  ; 
" he's  helpless— " 

"  Helpless  ?  he 's  dead  drunk,  and  the  watch'us  'd  be  the 
best  place  for  him,  I'm  thinkin'.  Here 's  a  mess !  Wy, 
ma'am,  you'll  get  your  death-cold,  and  you  can't  be  moved — 
curse  him !" 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  curse  him — don't  harm  him,  Dolly,"  be 
sought  the  poor  wife,  unable  to  raise  her  head  from  the  pil 
low.  "  I'll  try  to  get  along,  and  /  won't  murmur,  Dolly. 
God  is  above  all,  and  the  back  will  be  fitted  to  its  burden. 
Don't  chafe,  pray  don't,  now !  Move  the  baby  here  ;  there, 
that 's  very  kind  of  you,  Dolly.  Heaven  will  reward  you. 
Don't  harm  him,  will  you,  Dolly  ?"  repeated  the  patient  Annie. 

Dolly  said  nothing  more,  but  busied  herself  kindly  in  re-ar 
ranging  the  scanty  pillows  and  thin  bed-coverings,  removing 


THE     GOOD    DIE     YOUNG.  45 

the  wet  quilts,  and  substituting  the  clothes  from  her  own 
humble  mattrass  in  their  stead,  while  Ellson  lay  snoring  upon 
the  floor,  in  his  demented  helplessness,  all  the  while,  entirely 
unconscious  as  to  where  he  was,  or  what  was  transpiring  near 
him. 

"  Good  God !"  exclaimed  Dolly,  suddenly,  as  she  raised  the 
infant  up,  at  last,  toward  its  mother  ;  "  the  child 's  as  cold  as 
a  stone  !  Wot's  come  to  it,  ma'am  ?" 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Dolly  ?"  inquired  Annie. 

"  The  baby,  ma'am,"  whispered  Dolly,  taking  the  child  to 
the  dimly-burning  light,  in  the  chimney  corner. 

And  just  as  she  had  feared,  so  it  proved — the  infant  was 
dead  ! 

The  kind-hearted  neighbor  of  Mrs.  Ellson  was  more  consid 
erate  (on  a  moment's  reflection)  than  was  her  wont.  She 
stifled  the  exclamation  that  rose  to  her  lips,  though  she  would 
have  screamed  with  affright  had  she  yielded  to  the  sensation 
of  horror  that  she  experienced  at  the  moment  she  made  this 
fearful  discovery !  But  she  thought  of  the  shock  that  would 
be  occasioned  to  the  mother's  already  weakened  nerves  by 
the  sudden  disclosure  of  the  terrible  truth,  and  so  she  said, 
a  moment  afterwards : 

"  It  is  quiet,  now,  ma'am,  and  I  will  sit  by  you,  here,  a 
while." 

But  the  mother  was  nervous  and  uneasy. 

"  Let  me  see  the  baby,  Dolly,  and  do  you  go  back.  I  am 
easier,  now.  Why  should  you  suffer  thus  on  my  account1?" 

She  put  forth  her  hand,  and  it  fell  upon  the  marble-cold 
cheek  of  her  child !  She  glared  in  Dolly's  face,  an  instant, 
and  with  a  heart-thrusting  shriek,  she  exclaimed : 


46  THERAG-PICKEK. 

"  Dolly !  what  is  it — what  has  happened  ?  Tell  me — tell 
me — is  it — so  ?"  The  word  dead  stuck  in  her  throat,  and  she 
could  not  utter  it ! 

"  'Sh,  ma'am,"  responded  the  good  woman,  still  holding  the 
dead  child  upon  her  lap ;  "  don't  go  to  havin'  fits,  now,  or 
you  '11  kill  yourself,  too.  What 's  done  can't  be  mended,  as  I 
knows  of,  and  you  must  be  quiet.  Do,  now ;  that 's  a  good 
woman." 

"  Is  the  baby  alive,  Dolly  ?  Quick !  see  if — if  any  thing 
has  happened,"  insisted  the  mother,  frantically. 

But  the  child  must  have  been  dead  a  full  hour,  evidently. 
Its  little  limbs  were  stiff,  and  its  flesh  was  clammy  cold !  And 
the  shocking  truth  flashed  upon  the  mother's  senses,  with 
stunning  force,  as  she  fell  back,  and  swooned  again  upon  her 
troubled  pillow. 

While  Dolly  sprang  to  the  relief  of  Annie  Ellson,  her  own 
opinion  of  the  cause  of  the  infant's  death  would  have  been 
hazarded,  without  a  shade  of  qualification.  And  such  were 
her  feelings,  under  the  aggravated  circumstances  of  the  case, 
that  she  would  not  have  hesitated  an  instant,  had  she  at  that 
moment  been  asked  the  question,  to  have  replied  as  did  the 
brief-spoken  Coroner,  in  a  similar  instance — "  Rum  did  it  /" 


CHAPTER   VII. 

ANTHONY     BRITTAN. 

ONE  bright  morning  in  spring-time,  when  the  apple- 
blossoms  thickly  studded  the  branches,  and  the  crocus  peeped 
out  modestly  from  the  garden  borders,  an  aristocratic  English 
gentleman,  who  "  had  seen  better  days,"  but  who  was  still  in 
the  enjoyment  of  no  inconsiderable  creature  comforts,  (for  he 
would  gratify  his  appetites,  and  the  ancient  family  habit,  at  all 
events,)  stepped  from  the  clean-washed  steps  of  his  rather 

fashionable  house  in  C street,  with  rod  and  creel  in 

hand,  for  a  few  days  sport  among  the  trout  brooks  on  the 
Cape.  His  pony-chaise  was  in  waiting  before  the  old  marble 
portal,  and  he  halted  a  moment  to  see  that  all  was  "  right 
inside." 

A  burly-framed,  but  good-looking  negro  boy,  stood  by  the 
head  of  the  horse,  and  the  gentleman  surveyed  the  team  a 
moment,  drew  on  his  gloves,  and  said  : 

"  Is  all  snug,  Nappo  1" 

"  Yis,  sah,"  replied  the  servant,  touching  his  cap  respect 
fully.  "  De  lines  an'  fedders  is  in  de  portmantum,  yonder  ;  de 
flies  is  in  de  book ;  an'  de  hardware  an'  fixin's  is  up  in  de 
baskit.  Ml  rite,  sah.  I  seed  to  eb'ry  ting  myse'f." 


48  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  Very  good,  Nappo.  I  shall  be  absent  a  week.  See  to 
Kitty  the  mare,  and  let  her  have  a  warm  mash  at  night  and 
morning  until  my  return ;  and  give  her  gentle  walking  exer 
cise  daily." 

«  Yis,  sah." 

"  If  that  adventurer  shows  himself  here,  while  I  'm  away, 
turn  him  out — do  you  mind !" 

"Yis,  sah." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean  ?" 

"  Yis,  sah,"  said  Nappo  again. 

"  Very  good,"  concluded  the  gentleman,  entering  his  vehicle. 
And  a  moment  afterward  he  was  en  route  for  Sandwich. 

This  man  had  but  one  child,  a  blooming  daughter  of  seven 
teen,  whose  rare  charms  had  captivated  the  hearts  of  more 
than  one  aspirant  for  her  favor,  and  whom  the  father  valued 
for  many  natural  reasons.  She  was  beautiful,  well  educated, 
dutiful  in  all  ordinary  matters ;  but,  unfortunately  for  parental 
domination,  she  entertained  a  secret  and  uncontrollable  pas 
sion  for  a  young  man,  who  was  by  no  manner  of  means  up  to 
her  father's  exalted  ideas  of  social  position. 

Though  the  encouragement  of  this  person's  addresses  had 
been  repeatedly  and  determinedly  discountenanced  by  the  fa 
ther  of  the  young  lady,  and  though  he  had  proceeded  so  far 
as  utterly  to  refuse  him  admittance  to  'his  house,  yet  the 
suitor  for  his  daughter's  hand  was  a  very  worthy  and  respect 
able  man,  and  he  was  earnest  in  his  devoirs.  lie  resolved  to 
wed  the  daughter ;  first,  because  he  sincerely  loved  her,  and, 
secondly,  because  she  had  secretly  acknowledged  him  as  the 
favored  one,  above  all  other  competitors.  Their  acquaintance 
had  been  of  several  months'  standing,  when  the  old  gentleman 


ANTHONY     BRITTAN.  49 

left  home  upon  the  excursion  spoken  of;  but  the  father  knew 
nothing  whatever  of  the  real  state  of  affairs,  and  least  of  all 
that  his  daughter  was  absolutely  affianced,  in  secret,  to  the 
"  adventurer"  he  had  brought  himself  heartily  to  despise. 

"  And  to  this  choice  would  you  come  at  last,  my  daugh 
ter  ?"  he  Avould  exclaim,  angrily,  when  she  endeavored  to  con 
vince  her  parent  that  the  man  she  loved  was  worthy  of  her. 
"  Have  I  educated  you  for  this  ?  Have  I  watched  over  you, 
provided  for  you,  petted  you,  loved  you — that  you  should  be 
torn  from  me,  at  length,  by  this  puny  Yankee  scape-grace  2" 

"  Really,  father,  you  do  him  wrong — " 

"  Hush !  I  am  resolved.  He  comes  not  here  to  poison  your 
ear  with  his  flattery,  in  the  end  to  steal  my  child  !  Encour 
age  him  if  you  will — if  you  dare  do  so.  Listen  to  his  mer 
cenary  protestations,  marry  him,  if  you  will ;  but  you  are  no 
longer  daughter  of  mine.  From  the  hour  you  commit  this 
error — mind  it ! — I  will  disinherit  you,  disown  you  ! 

This  was  emphatic,  but  it  fell  upon  the  ear  of  the  spirited 
and  determined  girl  like  water  on  the  solid  rock !  She  loved 
her  father,  but  she  loved  another  with  an  altogether  different 
sort  of  feeling.  Her  second  love  was  unconquerable ;  and, 
without  the  possession  of  its  object,  life  would  be  a  blank  to 
her.  At  least  such  was  her  honest  belief,  and  the  anathemas 
and  threats  and  warnings  of  her  over-zealous  parent  were  re 
ceived  by  her  (often  with  fear  and  trembling),  but  without  the 
anticipated  and  desired  effect. 

The  man  who  had  thus  determined  to  oppose  the  wishes 
of  his  child,  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  the  course  he  adopted. 
The  fortune  he  had  enjoyed  for  many  years  was  decreasing  in 
bulk,  for  ho  had  made  sad  inroads  upon  the  principal,  in  the 


50  THERAG-PICKEIl. 

previous  ten  years,  by  means  of  his  extravagant  style  of 
living.  And,  besides  this,  certain  speculations  into  which  he 
had  been  drawn  latterly,  had  failed  him.  He  stooped  to  be 
lieve  that  he  had  one  "marketable  article"  left,  however! 
And  he  hoped  to  see  his  daughter  united  in  marriage  to  a 
wealthy  scion  of  some  "  noble"  house,  from  Avhich  connection 
he  had  anticipated — sooner  or  later — the  patching  up  of  his 
own  declining  fortune,  while  at  the  same  time  he  would  thus 
find  his  child  "  honorably"  provided  for. 

He  was  a  thorough  Briton  in  all  his  antecedents,  his  asso 
ciations,  his  habits,  and  his  desires.  He  belonged  to  the  last 
remnant  of  a  line  of  long-decayed  nobility,  and  he  came  to 
America  with  the  fortune  left  him,  because  the  investment  of 
his  means  in  this  country  afforded  him  a  more  liberal  allow 
ance  of  interest  than  he  could  obtain  at  home.  But  he 
brought  with  him  all  his  foibles,  all  his  prejudices,  all  his 
previous  habits  of  extravagance  ;  and  twenty  years'  residence 
in  New  England  had  in  no  wise  changed  the  Englishman 
from  what  he  had  ever  been — a  towering,  selfish  aristocrat,  a 
determined  bon  vivant  in  society,  and  a  strong-headed,  willful 
tyrant  in  his  household.  Such  was  the  man  whom  the 
daughter  had  now  to  deal  with.  She  feared  his  ire,  though 
she  entertained  for  him  the  highest  respect  and  filial  love. 
He  had  never  yet  had  occasion  to  visit  upon  his  child  the 
wrath  that  was  innately  stored  within  him,  and  which,  at 
times,  within  her  knowledge,  had  been  displayed  toward  his 
attendants,  or  others  who  offended  or  crossed  him,  with 
vengeful  and  bitter,  vehemence. 

He  had  now  been  absent  from  home,  amid  his  piscatorial 
enjoyments,  on  the  occasion  last  named,  five  days.  Nappo 


ANTHONY     BRITTAN.  51 

had  taken  the  best  possible  care  of  Ids  favorite  roadster  (which 
he  had  left  behind  him  sick),  and  otherwise,  generally,  had 
comported  himself  as  a  faithful  servant  should.  This  negro 
had  been  the  attendant  upon  his  master  for  some  four  or  five 
years,  and  his  extraordinary  intelligence,  and  constant  de- 
votedness  to  his  employer,  had  endeared  him  to  the  family  in 
a  singular  degree.  He  was  very  fond  of  attending  upon  his 
young  "  missus,"  as  he  called  the  daughter,  and  he  was  never 
happier  than  when  he  was  employed  by  her  in  any  commis 
sion  that  involved  a  little  handicraft,  or  a  show  of  responsi 
bility  beyond  a  servant's  ordinary  duties  or  requirements. 

In  such  cases  was  it  that  Nappo  shone  to  advantage. 
Faithful  to  the  last  extremity,  and  ever  ready  and  willing  to 
fly  at  her  bidding,  to  accomplish  whatever  she  desired  or  in 
structed  him  to  perform,  he  had  come  to  be  valued  by  her  for 
his  true  worth,  and  she  felt  that  he  was  her  friend,  should  she 
ever  need  his  services  at  a  more  important  juncture  than  had 
as  yet  occurred  in  her  experience. 

ISTappo  had  not  forgotten  his  master's  repeated  injunctions 
in  reference  to  the  "  adventurer"  (as  he  had  been  pleased,  in 
his  sarcastic  spleen,  to  term  the  visitor  of  his  young  missus), 
but  there  occurred  a  serious  bar  to  the  execution  of  the  old 
gentleman's  order  to  "  drive  him  out,"  when  he  made  his  ap 
pearance  at  the  house — for  the  young  lady  chanced  to  receive 
him,  when  he  came,  in  person.  And,  as  the  sable-skinned 
servant  was  just  in  the  act  of  preparing  to  make  a  suggestion, 
having  reference  to  his  absent  master's  wishes,  his  youthful 
missus  said : 

"  Nappo,  order  the  carriage  at  ten  o'clock  this  evening." 

"  Yis,  missus." 


52  THEKAG-PICKEK. 

And,  Nappo,  meantime,  do  not  leave  the  house.  I  have 
business  for  you." 

"  Yis,  missus,"  repeated  Nappo,  respectfully.  And  retiring 
from  the  hall  at  the  same  moment,  as  the  "  missus"  waived 
her  hand.  This  was  all  he  accomplished  toward  driving  the 
adventurer  out. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE      ELOPEMENT. 


1T  was  a  good  lady.    1T  was  a  good  lady!    We  may  pick  a  thousand  salads,  ere 
e  lifrht  on  such  another  herb. — ALL  's  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


NAPPO  was  considerably  nettled  at  being  so  suddenly  put 
hors  de  combat  in  his  good  intentions  toward  his  master ;  but  he 
consoled  himself  with  the  reflection  that  his  missus  prevented 
the  execution  of  his  orders,  and  that  he  would  seize  upon 
another  opportunity  to  do  the  old  gentleman's  bidding,  which 
opportunity,  as  it  turned  out,  did  not  occur ! 

At  ten  o'clock  that  evening,  the  carriage  ordered  by  the 
young  lady  stood  before  the  Englishman's  door,  and  the 
daughter,  accompanied  by  the  "  adventurer,"  entered  it,  with 
out  unnecessary  ceremony.  The  parent  would  return  home 
on  the  following  day.  No  inkling  had  been  vouchsafed  to 
the  household  as  to  the  destination  of  the  young  lady,  and 
Nappo  only  heard  the  gentleman's  final  remark,  as  he  fol 
lowed  his  missus  into  the  vehicle. 

"To  the  Elm  House,"  said  the  lady's  friend,  addressing 
the  coachman.  And  the  carriage  rolled  away  from  the  Eng 
lishman's  door,  leaving  Nappo  in  a  maze  of  bewilderment. 


54  T  II  E     R  A  G  -  P  I  C  K  E  R  . 

The  young  lady  was  attired  in  a  close  traveling  habit,  and 
the  servants  had  placed  a  trunk  upon  the  carriage,  and  Xappo 
began  to  suspect  that  something  was  wrong,  and  that,  possi 
bly,  there  might  be  a  rod  in  pickle  for  his  back !  The  missus 
had  gone,  however,  and  he  had  been  saved  the  trouble  of  driv 
ing  her  friend  out,  because  he  had  gone,  voluntarily,  also. 
But  they  had  departed  together — and  whither?  That  was 
the  rub. 

What  would  the  master  say  to  all  this  ?  ISTappo  knew  the 
Englishman's  disposition,  to  a  nicety,  and  he  very  soon  began 
to  think  it  high  time  that  he  should  go,  too,  for  he  was  con 
fident  that  there  was  something  out  of  joint  in  this  sudden 
and  extraordinary  movement. 

The  Providence  mail-coach,  which  left  the  door  of  the  Elm 
House  at  ten  o'clock  that  evening,  had  an  accession  to  the 
number  of  its  passengers,  in  the  persons  of  the  two  lovers. 
They  reached  their  destination,  duly,  and  at  an  early  hour  on 
the  following  day  they  were  united  in  the  holy  bonds  of  wed 
lock,  in  the  city  of  Providence,  Rhode  Island. 

The  gentleman  was,  at  that  time,  in  the  bright  bloom  of 
manhood,  and  the  lady  was  a  model  of  grace,  elegance  and 
beauty.  His  name — we  have  omitted  to  mention  it — was 
Henry  Ellson,  and  her's  was  Annie  Brittan.  Her  last  act, 
upon  quitting  her  father's  roof,  was  to  place  the  following 
letter  in  N"appo's  hand,  with  directions  that,  upon  the  English 
gentleman's  return  from  his  trouting  excursion,  it  should  be 
instantly  delivered  to  him.  It  ran  as  follows : 

"  MY  FATHER, — For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  now  disobey 
your  serious  injunctions,  and  I  pray  you  to  forgive  me. 


THE     ELOPEMENT.  55 

When  you  read  these  hastily  penned  lines,  all  blotted  with 
my  tears,  I  shall  be  a  ivedded  wife.  I  could  not  find  it  in  my 
heart  or  conscience  to  destroy  my  own  peace,  and  that  of  the 
man  I  loved,  by  following  your  repeated  instructions  upon  this 
point,  so  essential  to  my  future,  and  I  have  consented  to  fly 
from  the  roof  of  a  kind,  but  over-zealous  parent,  to  the  arms  of 
him  who,  to-morrow,  before  the  sacred  altar,  will  swear  him 
self  my  protector  and  my  husband.  Forgive  my  rashness, 
dear  father — forgive  Mm  !  The  peace  of  your  daughter  is  in 
volved,  and  your  pardon  for  this  offending  will  command  my 
eternal  gratitude.  On  your  return  to  our  hitherto  happy 
home,  I  shall  have  become  the  lawful  wife  of  Henry  Ellson, 
who  is  worthy  of  your  respect,  and  of  your  daughter's  love. 
I  pray  you  look  kindly  upon  our  union,  and  believe  me — what 
ever  may  be  your  feelings  or  your  course  toward  us,  hereafter 
— that  I  shall  not  cease  to  pray  to  the  Giver  of  all  good,  for 
the  constant  happiness  of  the  fondest  and  best  of  fathers. 

"  My  mother  sleeps  beneath  the  sod !  I  conjure  you,  by 
the  love  you  once  bore  for  her,  to  pity  me,  if  you  deem  me 
rash  in  this  act ;  and  trust  me,  my  still  loved  father,  that, 
though  I  may  have  erred,  I  deem  it  my  privilege  to  claim 
your  blessing  at  this  all-important  moment  of  my  life.  Again 
I  beseech  you,  forgive  your  loving  daughter,  ANNIE." 

The  more  Nappo  reflected  upon  the  subject  of  his  suspicions, 
the  more  firmly  he  became  fixed  in  his  opinion  that  foul 
play  was  on  foot.  What  it  would  result  in,  he  could  not  ex 
actly  bring  his  mind  to  determine  on ;  but,  as  the  long  weary 
night  hours  passed  by,  and  morning  approached  again,  while 
his  young  mistress  did  not  return,  the  light  crept  in  upon 


56  THE     BAG-PICKER, 

him  by  degrees,  and  he  ventured,  at  last,  upon  the  belief 
that  the  lady  had  eloped  with  the  handsome,  young  man 
whom  her  father  disliked. 

Having  waited  and  watched  for  the  lady's  coming  until 
broad  daylight,  he  suddenly  awoke  from  a  brief,  but  sound 
nap,  and  thus  "broke  ground,"  quietly,  to  himself: 

"  Wai !  de  missus  is  goiie,  clean,  dis  time,  dat's  sartin  ! 
And  massa  '11  be  home  dis  art'noon,  an'  he  won't  fine  no  Mis 
sy  Annie  here.  An'  den  he  '11  say — I  know  jess  wot  he  '11 
say,  'zac'ly — Nappo  !  you  big  dam  nigga  fool  you,  cum  yere  ! 
War's  de  Missus  ?  Whar  is  she  ?  You  knows  war  she  is, 
an'  ef  you  duzz  n't  tell  me,  I  break  de  bones  ob  your  skin 
and  gib  you  to  de  houn's — dass  a  fack — afore  you  eat  your 
supper,  you  brack  Satan  debble.  An'  w'en  I  goes  to  open 
my  mouf,  to  tell  him  how  I  don't  know,  massa,  den  he  '11 
tell  me  to  shet  up,  you  'fernal  nigga  vill'n !  I  won't  hear 
none  your  lies.  You  lie  allers,  an'  you  can't  speak  troof ; 
an'  ef  you  say  ee  fuss  word,  I'll  knock  dem  brains  off  o'  your 
wooly  head,  you  brack  ebony  chimbly-pot  sarp'nt !  Dass 
wot  massa  '11  say,  an'  he  '11  do  it !" 

Nappo  concluded  to  leave  town.  Then  he  resolved  to 
think  the  matter  over  again.  He  was  well  situated  ;  his  pay 
was  good — thirty  dollars  a  year,  and  found  ;  he  had  been 
in  old  Brittan's  service  for  a  long  period,  and  possibly  he 
mio-ht  be  able  to  manage  this  rather  critical  affair,  after  all. 

o  o  / 

The  letter  to  his  master  lay  upon  that  gentleman's  center- 
table.  It  was  sealed.  Nappo  had  been  named  after  the 
famed  Napoleon  ;  but,  notwithstanding  that  important  circum 
stance,  could  not  read  or  write.  Yet  the  envelop  looked 
suspicious  to  him.  lie  gazed  at  it  with  a  feeling  of  the  deep- 


THE     ELOPEMENT.  57 

est  dread.  It  was  a  sort  of  death-warrant  for  him,  he  thought, 
and  when  his  reckless,  violent,  tyrant-master  should  come  to 
read  it,  he  foresaw  the  storm  that  would  break  upon  his  de 
voted  head ! 

The  young  man  whom  old  Brittan  so  detested  had  visited 
the  house  in  his  master's  absence,  and  he  had  not  kicked 
him  down  the  steps,  as  his  employer  had  directed !  Here 
was  a  derilection  of  duty,  too.  What  should  he  say  in  expla 
nation  ?  Nappo  was  in  a  dilemma ! 

But  evening  came,  at  last,  and  with  it  old  Brittan.  Nappo 
was  no  where  to  be  found.  Annie  had  left  the  house  on  the 
previous  evening,  and  nobody  could  answer  the  hurried  ques 
tions  fiercely  propounded  to  them  by  the  uncomfortable  and 
enraged  master.  As  he  entered  his  library,  the  letter,  ad 
dressed  to  his  own  proper  name,  in  his  daughter's  familiar 
hand-writing,  met  his  gaze.  A  thought,  a  suspicion,  a  dread 
of  an  inexplicable  something,  forced  itself  upon  his  confused 
mind,  and  he  involuntarily  muttered  :  "  No,  no — not  that,  not 
that!"  and  he  grasped  the  frightful  looking  missive,  and 
crumpled  it  rudely  in  his  clutch,  as  if  he  would,  at  one  gripe, 
have  crushed  out  the  thought — the  fear,  that  seized  upon 
him,  in  spite  of  his  best  efforts  to  control  himself. 

"  Brittan  /"  he  shrieked  to  himself,  in  his  excitement,  un 
consciously,  "  are  you  a  man  f '  And  then  he  broke  the  seal 
with  a  nervous  hand.  He  read  but  the  first  three  lines, 
and  as  his  eye  glanced  upon  the  sentence,  "I  shall  be  a  wedded 
wife,"  the  pent-up  passion  burst,  and,  with  a  terrible  shout  of 
mad  despair,  he  fell  senseless  upon  the  library  floor ! 

3* 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE     ELLSON     FAMILY. 

He  had  no  breath,  no  being,  but  in  her's ; 
She  was  his  voice — she  was  his  life ! 

***** 
A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream. 

BYRON. 

Fon  three  years  from  the  day  of  their  nuptials,  Henry  and 
Annie  Ellson  were  as  happy  in  their  social  and  family  rela 
tions  as  they  could  well  be,  with  the  single  qualification  that 
the  wife  had  never  been  able  to  obtain  her  father's  forgiveness 
for  what  he  termed  her  "  ingratitude."  At  first,  old  Brittan 
raved,  and  cursed  his  child.  Then  he  threatened  Ellson  with 
a  suit  at  law  for  the  abduction  of  his  daughter.  Then  he 
became  calmer,  but  never  better  disposed  toward  either  the  run 
aways.  '  Foiled  and  baffled  in  all  his  early  schemes  to  annoy 
his  son-in-law,  he  finally  commenced  a  secret  war  upon  his 
credit,  in  the  business  community,  which  had  its  effect  in 
the  end. 

But  Henry  Ellson  was  then  an  honorable,  high-minded 
man,  au|l  he  did  not  retaliate  upon  his  wife's  father,  when 
he  was  amply  able  to  do  so.  His  world  of  happiness  was  in 
the  companionship  of  his  darling  wife,  and  Annie  gave  back 
his  love  and  devotion  with  all  the  purity  and  fervor,  and  earn 
estness,  of  her  confiding  and  grateful  heart. 


THE     E  L  L  S  O  N     FAMILY.  59 

Immediately  .upon  their  return  from  Providence,  after  the 
marriage,  Ellson  bore  his  bride  to  his  neatly-furnished  house, 
in  a  quiet  street  at  the  west  end  of  the  city,  where  they  set 
tled  at  once,  and,  with  a  single  female  servant,  continued  to 
live  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  modest  comforts  of  life,  but  al 
ways  contented  with  their  lot  and  with  each  other. 

Henry  could  not  and  did  not  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that 
his  fondly-loved  wife  had  made  an  extraordinary  sacrifice  in 
leaving  the  splendid  home  of  her  wealthy  parent  to  join  her 
fate  with  his  moderate  and  inconsiderable — not  to  say  dubious 
— fortune.  He  was,  at  that  time,  in  business  upon  his  own 
account^  and  he  entertained  no  doubt  that  he  was  abundantly 
able  to  Slurry.  But  he  soon  found  that,  from  some  unknown 
cause,  trade  was  not  so  promising  as  it  had  been.  And  then 
he  observed  a  disposition  on  the  part  of  his  creditors — within 
twelve  months  from  the  day  of  his  nuptials — to  shun  him, 
Avhen  he  sought  new  accommodations,  or  an  increase  of  fa 
cilities.  The  secret  poison  of  his  vengeful  and  determined 
father-in-law  was  silently  at  work,  but  Ellson  knew  nothing — 
suspected  nothing  of  this. 

Annie  strove  in  every  way,  compatible  with  duty  and  honor, 
to  conciliate  her  unforgiving  father,  but  all  to  no  purpose. 
She  wrote  letter  after  letter  to  him,  beseeching  him  to  be 
reasonable,  and  to  permit  her  to  throw  herself  at  his  feet, 
and  in  person  humbly  to  crave  his  leniency  and  mercy.  He 
received  her  touching  appeals,  at  first,  with  violence  and  con 
tinued  curses,  and  finally  he  thrust  her  letters  int<^the  fire, 
unopened. 

"  She  is  dead  !"  he  said,  at  length  ;  "  my  daughter  is  dead 
to  me,  and  mine,  forever.  I  will  be  avenged  upon  him,  how- 


CO  T  II  E     K  A  (i  -  1'  I  (;  K  ii  U. 

ever,  lie  shall  not  escape  me,  :is  he  fancies  lie  will.  I  will 
crush  him  to  the  earth,  and  through  him  the  ingrate  child 
shall  feel  my  power,  sooner  or  later.  She  has  braved  a  fa 
ther's  vengeance,  and  I  will  pursue  her  and  her  seducer  to  the 
death  !"  And  he  kept  his  promise,  though  he  was  unsuspected. 

The  rebuke  that  Annie  encountered  through  the  silence  of 
her  parent  (who  never  vouchsafed  an  answer  to  her  repeated 
written  appeals)  was  cause  for  deep  pain  to  her  gentle  spirit ; 
but  she  became  resigned  to  her  fate,  at  last,  and,  at  Henry's 
urgent  request,  she  ceased  to  importune  the  only  relative  she 
had,  upon  her  father's  side,  in  the  country. 

With  pious  submission  to  her  lot,  consoled  by  the  convic 
tion  that  she  had  attempted  all  in  her  power  to  heal  the 
breach  that  had,  unfortunately,  been  made  by  her,  and  trust 
ing  in  God  that  her  erratic  father  would  soon  relent  and  suf 
fer  his  child  again  to  embrace  him,  Annie  Ellson  gave  herself 
up  to  her  household  duties,  and  to  the  pleasing  occupation  of 
rendering  her  husband's  home  a  happy  one. 

And  right  joyously  passed  the  hours,  for  a  time,  at  their 
pretty  and  comfortable  residence.  Annie  was  all  smiles,  and 
Henry  appreciated  her  continual  efforts  to  make  make  him 
forget,  at  least,  during  the  time  that  he  spent  in  her  society, 
the  cares  and  perplexities  that  environed  the  man  of  busi 
ness. 

She  saw  a  faltering,  at  length — a  slight  decline  in'  the 
vivacity  of  Henry's  manners,  and  then  a  temporary  exhibition 
of  uneasiness  when  he  came  home  from  his  daily  duties  at  the 
counting-house.  But  she  quickly  rallied  him,  and,  in  the 
midst  of  his  fire-side  comforts — so  happily  arrayed  and  so 
cheerfully  kept  up  by  the  constancy  and  assiduity  of  his 


T  II  R     K  L  T,  S  O  N     P  A  M  I  L  T  .  61 

dearly-cherished  Annie — he  forgot  again  his  toils  and  the  an 
noyances  of  the  day. 

Amid  all,  the  soothing  quiet  and  certain  happiness  at 
tendant  upon  religious  family  service  had  been  enjoyed  regu 
larly  at  evening  ;  and  the  kind-hearted  Henry  never  forgot  to 
pray  earnestly  for  the  blessing  of  Heaven  upon  the  father  of 
his  wife — an  appeal  to  which  his  Annie  responded  amen  ! 
with  her  whole  soul,  notwithstanding  the  continued  obduracy 
and  bitter  malevolence  entertained  toward  them  by  her  heart 
less  parent. 

Yet  they  loved  each  other  as  fondly,  and  the  hours  passed 
away  as  blithely,  in  their  little  home,  as  ever,  for  more  than 
two  long  years ;  and,  meantime,  there  came  a  third  party  to 
share  the  smiles  and  the  caresses  of  the  lovers.  A  son  blessed 
their  union,  and  Henry  Ellson  was  prouder,  and  more  digni 
fied,  and  happier  than  ever  before.  He  thanked  God  for  this 
gift,  with  a  full  heart,  every  day,  and  as  it  grew  to  look  more 
and  more  like  its  "  angel  mother,"  the  loving  father  grew  to 
think  more  highly  of  the  precious  boon.  And  six  months — 
twelve  months  passed  away.  The  cherub  had  grown  to  be  a 
bright-eyed,  rollicking,  rugged  child,  the  darling  of  its  mother, 
the  joy  of  its  affectionate  father. 

But  a  change  had  begun  to  creep  over  the  spirit  of  the 
mother's  dream !  Within  a  few  weeks  the  husband's  business 
had  confined  him  to  the  store  to  a  much  later  hour  than  had 
been  his  custom,  hitherto.  He  came  home  worried,  and  out 
of  tune,  at  first.  The  evening  family  prayer  was  omitted,  and 
the  reading  of  the  sacred  volume  was  deferred  until  the  Sab 
bath  came.  Soon  after  this  the  wife  observed  that  Henry  did 
not  return  to  his  fireside  at  all  until  late  at  night,  and  once  or 


62  T  H  E     R  A  G  -  P  I  C  K  E  R . 

twice  she  thought  she  noticed  a  singular  appearance  in  his  ex 
pression — his  face  seemed  flushed — but  she  suspected  nothing, 
except  that  he  toiled  too  hard  and  too  late  for  his  health. 

And  then  no  prayers  were  heard  at  all  in  Ellson's  dwelling. 
Yet,  in  secret,  how  zealously  did  the  faithful  Annie  plead  with 
her  Father  in.  Heaven,  to  divert  the  calamity  that  she  at 
length  came  to  dwell  upon  ! 

And  Henry  came  and  went.  lie  kissed  the  sweet  babe 
that  he  had  many  times  thanked  God- for,  and  still  he  smiled 
upon  his  faithful  wife.  But  his  breath  was  hot,  and  his 
temples  throbbed  violently,  at  times,  when  he  came  home  at 
night,  and  he  hurried  to  his  pillow  to  sleep  away  his  bodily 
and  mental  troubles.  He  was  unfortunate,  he  said,  in  his 
business.  His  former  friends  evaded  him.  His  creditors 
came  to  be  importunate,  and  his  trade  had  gone  into  other 
channels.  His  credit  was  injured  at  length,  and  the  hour  of 
his  return  home,  at  night,  grew  later  and  later.  And  Annie 
sighed,  and  wept,  and  prayed  for  him,  but  did  not  complain  ! 

"Whither  could  she  turn  ?  To  whom  could  she  unbosom 
herself,  if  the  friend  and  lover,  for  whom  she  sacrificed  all  of 
worldly  hope  and  expectation,  failed  her  ?  "  Oh  !  my  God," 
would  she  exclaim,  in  her  bitterness  of  apprehension,  "  have  I 
deserved  this  blow  ?  Must  all  my  fond  anticipations  thus  be 
crushed  ?  Save  me,  Great  Giver  of  good !  Save  him — my 
poor,  my  erring  husband  !" 

The  midnight  hour  often  passed  before  Henry  came  to  hi.s 
family  ;  and  at  last  a  daughter  was  born  to  them.  The  smile 
he  bestowed  upon  this  gift  was  sickly  and  tame.  They  had 
been  married  nearly  five  years,  and  matters  had  latterly 
grown  rapidly  worse.  Henry  Ellsou  failed  in  business,  and 


THE     ELLSON     FAMILY.  63 

his  creditors  seized  his  furniture.  The  landlord,  whose  rent 
had  not  been  forthcoming,  demanded  possession  of  his  house. 
And,  after  a  while,  they  found  themselves  meanly  lodged,  and 
but  poorly  fed.  The  once  gallant,  comely,  prosperous  Ellson, 
was  now  a  wayward  tippler  ! 

In  vain  did  the  fond  wife  plead  with  her  adversity-stricken 
husband.  The  world  was  ungenerous,  he  said ;  he  had 
striven  to  make  his  life  honorable,  and  his  family  comfortable, 
and  his  sunshine  friends  had  deserted  him.  He  absented 
himself  from  his  meals,  and  then,  for  days  together,  he  run 
riot  amid  the  excitement  caused  by  final  reckless  intoxication. 
He  cursed  his  hard  fate,  and  upbraided  the  father  of  his  wife. 
Neglect  of  her  and  of  his  babes  succeeded.  The  poisoning 
bowl  he  deemed  his  solace,  and  he  drained  it  to  the  dregs  of 
ruin,  disgrace,  and  penury. 

How  zealously,  yet  how  fruitlessly,  did  poor  Annie  now 
strive  to  hide  her  husband's  shame.  How  did  she  labor  to 
excuse  his  faults  to  those  who  had  no  hearts  to  appreciate  her 
consummate  misery.  How  anxiously  did  she  toil  to  keep 
body  and  soul  together,  and  to  what  miserably  degrading 
shifts  did  she  not  silently  submit,  in  the  hope  to  save  her  hus 
band,  at  last.  How  willingly  and  devotedly  did  she  resign 
herself  to  his  slightest  wish,  and  how  continuously  did  she 
watch  for  the  hoped-for,  prayed-for,  restoration  of  her  husband 
once  more  from  the  toils  of  the  destructive  Fiend  who  had 
thus  ensnared  and  bound  him  ! 

In  the  midst  of  her  crushing  poverty  and  misery,  once 
more  did  Annie  appeal  to  her  father,  in  the  frail  hope  that 
his  stubborn  nature  would  yield,  when  she  again  confessed 
to  him  the  unfortunate  error  of  her  life,  and  frankly  exposed 


64  T  H  E      II  A  ti  -  1'  I  0  K  K  l{ . 

to  his  view  the  terrible  emergency  that  had  driven  her  to 
crave  the  aid  it  was  in  his  power  so  easily  to  bestow. 

In  all  the  candor  and  earnestness  of  a  broken  and  contrite 
spirit,  with  all  the  meekness  of  a  despairing  and  affectionate 
daughter,  she  addressed  to  her  father  a  letter  couched  in  lan 
guage  most  humble,  respectful,  and  loving,  in  which  she  be 
sought  him  to  afford  her  relief. 

"  She  has  made  her  own  bed — let  her  lie  on  it !"  was  his 
bitter  reply,  as  he  tore  the  missive  in  fragments. 

And  then,  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  well-appointed  parlor, 
while  a  hellish  smile  lit  up  the  flinty  expression  of  his 
features,  he  continued,  mentally  : 

"The  cunning,  artful  mynx !  She  disguised  the  super 
scription  that  it  might  be  sure  to  reach  my  hands,  else  would 
I  have  sent  it  back  to  her  unopened,  with  a  renewal  of  her 
father's  curse !  Not  a  penny — not  a  cent,  so  help  me  God ! 
I  have  sworn  to  vanquish  them,  and  I  will  not  relent.  Ha, 
ha !  This  is  her  worthy  friend.  This  Ellson — her  husband — 
the  father  of  her  brats,  I  suppose — is  the  scoundrel  whom  she 
declared  was  '  worthy  of  her  father's  daughter !'  I  have  at 
tended  to  his  case,  scrupulously  !  The  poison  did  its  work — 
but  this  is  only  the  begirding  of  the  end.  They  shall  sup 
sorrow  to  their  hearts'  content.  I  am  childless — alone  in  my 
misery.  Death  alone  shall  relieve  either  her  or  him !" 

The  patient  daughter  waited  anxiously  for  some  reply  to 
her  fervent  letter,  but  answer  never  came.  She  had  been 
disobedient,  but  oh !  how  fearfully  had  she  discharged  the 
penalty  of  the  first  and  only  serious  fault  of  her  life  !  Again 
the  rent  fell  due,  and  again  she  was  obliged  to  say  to  the 


THE     ELLSON     FAMILY.  65 

landlord  that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  meet  it  (her  hus 
band  had  not  been  home  for  three  long  days  and  nights). 
"  The  bill  must  be  adjusted,  ma'am." 
"  As  soon  as  Mr.  Ellson  returns,  sir — he  will — " 
"  I  hear  bad  accounts  of  him,  ma'am.     If  the  rent  is  paid 
on  Saturday,  well  and  good.     If  not,  you  must  go  out  on 
Monday,  ma'am,"  said  the  owner  of  the  tenement. 

Succor  did  not  come.  And  still  the  faithful  wife  clung 
madly  to  the  withered  fortune  of  him  who  had  once  been 
true  to  her.  Still  she  wept  with  him,  mourned  over  him, 
struggled  for  him  and  her  almost  starving  infants !  Still, 
with  all  her  woman's  constancy  and  forgiving  kindness,  did 
she  suffer  without  murmuring  or  censuring  him.  And,  when 
he  came  reeling  to  his  desolate  hearth,  she  hushed  the  little 
ones  to  repose,  lest  they  should  annoy  him,  or  be  alarmed  by 
his  fretful  rudeness.  And  then,  with  Christian  submission 
and  loving  tenderness,  poor  Annie  Avould  wipe  the  perspira 
tion  from  his  cheeks  and  bathe  his  throbbing  temples,  and 
weep  hot  tears  of  anguish  at  the  sight  of  this  fearful  wreck 
of  all  she  loved  in  life,  save  his  babes ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

A     MINISTER     OF     MERCY. 

Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have  done 
it  unto  me. — HOLY  WRIT. 

ANNIE  ELLSON,  the  changed  and  suffering  daughter  of  An 
thony  Brittan,  had  given  birth  to  her  third  child.  We  have 
followed  the  downfall  of  the  husband,  from  prosperity  to  ab 
solute  destitution,  and  will  resume  our  narrative,  connectedly, 
once  more,  and  look  at  him  and  his  from  the  hour  when  Ave 
left  him,  eight  years  from  the  day  of  his  joyous  nuptials  with 
Annie  Brittan,  the  suffering  wife  Avho  now  lay  upon  the 
drenched  pallet  of  their  miserable  tenement,  with  her  dead  in 
fant  near  her,  overwhelmed  with  bodily  agony  and  oppression 
of  soul ! 

Dolly  Curtain  sat  watching  at  the  bedside  still,  fearful  to 
move  lest  she  should  disturb  the  pale  and  weary  mother,  to 
whom  she  had  lately  administered  an  opiate  to  calm  her  pain 
ful  nervousness.  The  Dispensary  physician  had  called  during 
the  early  part  of  the  night,  and  had  left  behind  him  this  an 
odyne,  to  be  used  if  his  patient  were  uneasy. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  the  week.  'Dolly  had  received  the 
scanty  pittance  that  she  was  able  to  earn  by  the  constant  la 
bor  of  her  hands  during  the  six  days  previously,  and  after  dis- 


A     MINISTER     OF     MEKCY.  07 

charging  her  petty  current  bills  of  expenses,  she  had  less  than 
a  dollar  in  hand  as  a  surplus.  But  she  had  her  health  and 
strength  left  yet,  and  she  thanked  God  that  she  had  no 
drunkard-husband  to  support  and  struggle  with,  amid  her 
poverty. 

The  being  who,  of  right,  should  have  been  the  prop  and 
comfort  of  poor  Annie  Ellson,  amid  the  pains  and  perils  of 
her  present  situation — he  who  was  at  once  the  origin  and 
cause  of  her  misery  and  trouble — the  father  of  the  innocent, 
babe  that  now  lay  dead  at  its  wretched  mother's  side — was 
utterly  unconscious  of  any  thing  in  life,  as  he  breathed  heav 
ily,  and  occasionally  muttered  some  incoherent  words  in  a 
thick  and  unnatural  tone,  that  annoyed  the  woman  who  was 
watching  over  his  wife,  and  who  was  so  anxious  the  invalid 
should  not  be  awakened. 

But  Annie  slept  at  length,  and  did  not  open  her  eyes  until 
after  sunrise.  By  this  time  the  somnolent  effects  of  Ellson's 
debauch  had  passed  away,  and  he  came  half  to  consciousness 
to  find  himself  wet  to  the  skin,  and  sprawling  upon  the  hard 
pine  floor  of  his'sleeping-room. 

The  day  of  repentance  or  mortification  seemed  to  have  long 
since  passed  by  with  him !  When  he  fairly  awoke,  he  got 
up,  looked  around  him,  saw  his  still  sleeping  wife,  and  then 
suddenly  discovered  Dolly,  at  her  bedside.  He  clung  to  the 
old  bed-post  for  temporary  support — for  his  brain  reeled  yet, 
and  he  had  only  partially  recovered  from  his  stupefaction — 
when  Dolly  started  toward  him,  and  seizing  him  stoutly  by 
the  arm,  pointed  straight  to  the  cold  body  of  his  dead  child, 
and  said,  in  a  sharp  whisper : 

« 'Sh—look  there  /" 


68  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  What — what 's  that,  Dolly,  dear  ?"  exclaimed  the  poor 
wretch,  in  his  silly  imbecility. 

"  Dead — dead  /"  hissed  the  woman  in  his  ear. 

"Dead  !  Dolly,  dear?"  continued  the  man,  still  clinging  to 
the  bedstead ;  "  dead  o'  what,  Dolly  ?  Who— killed  it  ?  eh, 
Dolly,  dear?" 

"  Hush  !"  said  the  nurse,  observing  that  Annie  was  stirring 
at  this  moment.  And  turning  to  the  wife,  she  said : 

"  Ar'  nt  you  better,  ma'am  ?" 

The  eyelids  of  the  sufferer  slowly  parted,  and  closed  again, 
but  she  uttered  no  word  of  reply.  Ellson  stood  stupidly  clinging 
to  the  bedstead  for  a  moment,  but  evidently  without  realizing 
the  awful  scene  in  which  he  was  now  so  criminal  an  actor. 

"  What — wha  's  the  marr'r  with  her  ?"  stammered  the  man, 
at  length,  after  rolling  his  glazed  and  reddened  eyes  about 
the  apartment,  and  for  an  instant  appearing  to  discover,  in 
distinctly,  that  there  was  trouble  there,  and  that  his  wife  was, 
in  some  manner,  involved  in  it.  "  Wha 's  the  marrer,  Dolly, 
dear  ?" 

"  Matter !  you  poor  beast !"  responded  Dolly,  in  a  low,  but 
bitter  tone ;  "  don't  you  see  what  you  've  brought  the  poor 
creetur  to?  This  comes  o'  your  rum-drinkin'.  God's  taken 
the  baby,  and  the  wife  '11  go  soon  enough,  now." 

"  What,  Dolly  !    Who— Annie  ?   Go,  where— Dolly,  dear  ?" 

"  To  Heaven,  I  hope  ;  out  o'  the  reach  o'  your  woeful  brut- 
ishness." 

Annie  moved  again,  and  at  this  moment  a  soft  step  was 
heard  on  the  creaking  stairs.  The  door  opened,  and  the  face 
of  a  reverend  looking  man  appeared,  from  below  stairs. 

"  Shall  I  come  in  ?"  he  asked,  bowing  to  Dolly  as  he  ap- 


A     MINISTER     OF     MEKCY.  69 

preached.  The  woman  said  yes,  and  the  visitor  entered  the 
cheerless  room. 

He  was  attired  in  a  plain  black  suit,  and  his  neat  white 
neck-cloth  indicated  that  his  mission  was  one  of  charity  and 
love.  It  was  Mr.  Goodson,  one  of  the  city  missionaries,  who 
was  no  stranger  in  that  wretched  and  woe-stricken  family. 

He  advanced  to  the  bedside,  where  lay  the  emaciated  form 
of  the  once  beautiful  Mrs.  Ellson,  whose  spark  of  life  glim 
mered  but  faintly,  and  whose  countenance  exhibited  every  to 
ken  of  approaching  dissolution.  Henry  still  stood  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  without  speaking,  or  seeming  to  notice  the  presence 
of  the  new  comer  at  all. 

"  She  is  failing,"  said  Mr.  Goodson,  softly,  turning  to  Dolly. 

"  She  's  very  bad,  sir." 

"  Has  the  doctor  been  in  ?" 

"  Not  to-day,  sir.  He  came  last  evening.  Doctors  ain't  no 
good  to  her,  sir ;  she 's  clean  gone,  I  'm  afear'd !" 

"  Let  us  pray,  responded  the  missionary,  in  a  quiet,  but 
solemn  tone ;  and  he  knelt  at  the  foot  of  the  low  pallet,  while 
the  illiterate  Dolly  Curtain  sunk  beside  him,  and  in  her  hum 
ble  manner  joined,  with  all  her  honesty  of  heart,  in  the  fer 
vent  supplication  that  the  man  of  God  breathed  forth  to  the 
Father  of  Mercies,  in  behalf  of  the  invalid,  her  husband,  and 
her  babes. 

He  prayed  in  faith.  With  a  firm  reliance  upon  the  pow 
er  and  beneficence  of  the  Good  Being  whose  arm  was  mighty 
to  save,  and  who  suffered  not  even  the  sparrow  to  fall  without 
his  notice,  he  besought  God  to  permit  the  bitter  cup  to  pass 
away  from  this  long-afflicted  family,  and  to  restore  the  wife 
and  mother  to  health,  and  to  her  babes. 


70  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

And  then  he  pleaded  for  the  miserable,  recreant  husband, 
in  touching  tones  of  commiseration  and  sympathy.  lie 
begged  that  the  poor  inebriate  might  be  reclaimed,  and  that 
he  might  yet  be  aroused  and  turned  from  the  fearful  path 
into  which  his  error  had  led  him  ;  that  he  might  be  brought 
back  to  happiness,  to  peace,  and  to  a  new  realization  of  the 
"joy  that  passeth  understanding,"  through  the  merits  of  the 
Redeemer,  who  died  for  the  sinner  that  repented  and  returned 
to  him  ! 

A  low  sob  was  heard — a  sigh — and  then  a  heart-gushing 
"  AMEN  !"  fell  from,  the  lips  of  the  wife,  as  this  fervent  sup 
plication  ceased.  Then  taking  from  his  breast  the  holy  vol 
ume,  that  he  constantly  bore  with  him  in  his  round  of  duty, 
Mr.  Goodson  repeated  from  its  pages,  in  a  soothing  voice, 
such  passages  of  the  Scriptures  as  he  deemed  appropriate 
and  consoling  to  the  sufferer  in  her  present  hour  of  deep  af 
fliction. 

In  spite  of  all  entreaty  on  the  part  of  Dolly  and  the  gentle 
Mr.  Goodson,  the  discomfited  husband  forced  his  way  down  the 
stairs  and  disappeared  amid  the  rudeness  of  the  continued  storm. 

With  all  the  soothing  eloquence  he  possessed,  the  man  of 
God  still  lingered  to  comfort  with  soft  words  and  kindly  en 
couragement  the  failing  and  shattered  senses  of  Mrs.  Ellson. 
T?ut  she  soon  took  little  further  notice  of  his  attentions.  Her 
thin  white  arms  were  thrown  above  her  head,  at  first,  and 
then  a  wild,  unnatural  expression  pervaded  her  features.  The 
glassy  eye  brightened,  and  she  gazed'  sharply  at  vacancy,  as 
if  a  phantom  waved  over  or  before  her.  Then  the  names  of 
her  children  were  mentioned — her  husband — her  father — but 
unconnectedly,  and  without  apparent  meaning. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  INVALID  AND  HER  BABES. 

"  I  wish  lie  would  corne,"  ventured  Dolly,  in  a  whisper,  at 
length. 

"  Who  2"  asked  Mr.  Goodson. 

"  The  doctor,  sir.  lie  can't  do  her  no  good,  I'm  sure ;  but 
then,  I  don't  like  to  see  her  taking  on  so,  and  nobody  here 
but  me  too  look  to  her ;  it 's  too  responsible,  like,  and  one 
dead  one  's  enough,  at  a  time,"  she  added,  pointing  to  the  in 
fant. 

"  Dead,  did  you  say,"  queried  the  reverend  man. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir ;  since  last  night,  or  rather,  early  this  morn 
ing." 

"  But  you  did  not  speak  of  this  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  did  n't,  'cause  I  thought  you  noticed  it  when 
you  come  in." 

"Dead!  Poor  child.  Well,  well;  it  is  better  off,  in 
Heaven,  verily  !"  said  the  pious  missionary. 

"  So  I  'm  thinkin'.  But  there 's  the  other  two  little  ones, 
you  know,  sir,"  added  Dolly. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  it  is  sad,  indeed.  Truly,  a  house  of  suffering 
and  mourning." 


72  TIIERAG-PICKEK. 

The  doctor  entered  at  this  moment. 

He  felt  the  patient's  pulse,  mechanically,  and  spoke  to  her, 
but  she  made  him  no  reply. 

"  How  is  she,  doctor  ?"  asked  Dolly. 

"  Her  pulse  is  very  low — very.  But  she  will  rally  again. 
Prostration,  only — mental  and  physical  suffering,  combined. 
She  took  the  opiate,  Dolly  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Let  her  remain  quiet,  then.  Keep  that  wretch  of  a  hus 
band  away  from  the  room,  and  the  children  from  annoying  or 
disturbing  her.  She  will  come  up  again,  I  think." 

Dolly  shook  her  head.  The  physician  retired,  and  the 
woman  said : 

"Doctors  knows  a  good  deal,  sir,  but  they  don't  know 
every  thing.  Mrs.  Ellson  '11  die,  sir." 

"  Perhaps  not,  Dolly.  God,  in  his  wisdom  and  mercy, 
may  yet  spare  her  to  care  for  and  protect  her  little  ones, 
peradventure.  "We  may  not  despair.  While  there  is  life, 
there  is  hope,  Dolly." 

"  Yes,  sir.     You  wall  come  in  again  ?" 

"  O,  certainly ;  I  will  call  at  evening,  and  I  shall  hope  to 
find  her  better." 

"  It 's  very  kind  of  you,  sir ;  and  it  makes  us  all  feel  so 
much  better  to  hear  you  talk  and  pray  with  her,  for  she 's 
very  bad,  and  I  think  her  troubles  is  about  over,  sir." 

As  Mr.  Goodson  went  out,  the  faces  of  two  youngsters 
were  seen  in  the  narrow  entry-way,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
They  were  the  two  children  of  Annie  and  Henry  Ellson,  and 
they  were  waiting  for  the  man  in  the  "  meeting  clothes"  to 
depart,  before  they  would  venture  into  the  sick  room.  As  the 


THE     INVALID    AND     HER    BABES.  7o 

missionary  passed  by,  they  crouched  in  the  corner,  out  of 
sight  for  the  moment,  as  the  eldest  whispered  :  "  Hush,  you, 
Carrie  !  he  '11  see  us  if  you  don't."  And  Carrie  nestled  down 
behind  her  brother,  with  her  little  hands  folded  between  her 
knees,  in  order  to  reduce  her  dimensions  to  the  least  possible 
compass,  lest  she  should  be  discovered  by  the  "  big  man 
with  the  clean  shirt  on,"  as  she  denominated  Mr.  Goodson. 

The  piercing  jet-black  eyes  of  sweet  little  Carrie  peered  out 
from  her  retreat,  and  though  they  scarcely  breathed,  Mr.  Good- 
son  saw  the  two  fugitives  just  as  he  was  descending  the 
stairs.  He  halted,  turned  kindly  toward  them,  and  Dolly 
closed  the  door  of  the  sick  room,  as  he  said,  with  a  benevo 
lent  smile  : 

"  Come  here,  Toney  ;  come  and  see  me.  And  you,  too, 
Carrie ;  I  Ve  something  to  tell  you." 

The  children  were  diffident,  but  they  approached  the  kind- 
hearted  man,  who  spoke  to  them,  in  a  loving  and  subdued 
tone,  of  their  mother's  illness. 

Toney  was  the  first-born  of  the  Ellsons,  and,  notwithstand 
ing  the  continued  ill  feeling  that  Annie's  father  harbored 
toward  his  daughter,  she  had  named  her  son  Anthony  Brit- 
tan,  after  its  grandfather.  The  youngest  was  Clara,  or  Carrie, 
as  she  had  always  been  called,  and  both  were  promising 
children,  for  their  ages.  Toney  was  now  seven,  and  Carrie 
was  past  four  years  old. 

"  Do  you  know,  little  ones,"  said  Mr.  Goodson,  mildly,  "  that 
mother  is  very  sick  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Toney,  "  and  I  'm  sorry,  too." 

"  Poor  mamma  !"  chimed  in  little  Carrie. 

"  Then  you  will  be  very  good,  I  Ve  no  doubt,  and  try  to  be 
4 


74  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

quiet,  and  not  make  a  noise  that  shall  worry  poor  sick  mam 
ma  ;  won't  you  ?"  continued  Mr.  Goodson. 

"/will  be  still,"  said  Toney. 

"  I,  too,"  said  Carrie  ;  "  I,  too." 

"  That  is  right.  I  love  little  children,  very  much,  and  es 
pecially  good,  obedient  children.  You  will  be  good,  won't 
you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  both  at  once. 

"  Then  I  will  love  you,  and  every  body  Avill  love  you ;  and 
God  will  love  and  bless  you  in  your  future  lives." 

"  But  every  body  don't  love  us,  now,"  suggested  the  boy, 
suddenly,  and  looking  into  Mr.  Goodson's  face  as  if  he  would 
like  an  explanation  of  the  assertion  he  had  just  dropped. 

"  No  ?"  queried  the  missionary,  a  little  perplexed  by  this 
rather  unexpected  remark ;  "  who  don't  love  you  ?" 

"  Well,"  continued  Toney,  "  every  body  don't." 

"  And  who,  for  instance  ?" 

"  Papa  don't,"  said  Carrie,  quickly,  but  in  a  whisper. 

"  Papa  does  n't  love  us,"  continued  the  eldest,  as  soon  as  the 
ice  seemed  thus  to  be  broken. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  mistaken,  Toney,  my  son,"  responded  the 
reverend  man,  hardly  knowing  what  reply  to  make  to  this 
pointed  opinion  of  the  children. 

"  I  know  he  don't,"  persisted  the  boy. 

"  I,  too,"  followed  Carrie. 

"  You,  too  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Goodson.  "  Surely,  papa  loves 
his  pretty  Carrie." 

"  No,  no,"  insisted  the  little  one. 

"And  how  do  you  know  ?  That  is — I  mean,  Avhy  do  you 
think  that  your  father  don't  love  you  ?" 


THE  INVALID  AND  HER  BABES.        75 

"  'Cause  he  beats  us,  and  don't  give  us  nothing  that  other 
boys'  and  girls'  fathers  do,"  said  Toney. 

"  An'  he  plagues  mamma,  too,"  added  Carrie. 

"He  keeps  getting  sick,  all  the  time,  and  mamma  tells 
him  how  to  get  well  again,  and  he  don't  mind  what  she  says, 
on'y  goes  and  gets  sick  right  off,  and — and — sometimes  falls 
right  down  on  the  floor,  when  he 's  bad." 

"  An' — an' — don't  git  up  again,"  said  Carrie. 

The  little  ones  were  silent,  but  by  no  means  idle  observ 
ers  of  their  unhappy  father's  conduct;  but  they  were  too 
young  too  realize  how  deeply  their  innocent  words  penetrated 
the  heart  of  the  sympathetic  Mr.  Goodson,  as  he  patted  them 
gently  on  the  cheeks,  kissed  them,  and,  with  the  assurance 
that  father  and  mother  would  soon  get  better,  he  hoped,  the 
missionary,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  withdrew  from  the  most 
trying  scene  it  had  been  his  lot  for  many  a  day  to  witness. 

The  babe  was  a  weakly  thing,  and  had  been  so  from  the 
moment  of  its  birth.  There  were  none  to  inquire  into  the 
cause  of  its  death,  for  who  could  have  wished  that  it  might 
have  lived,  to  be  a  burden  to  itself,  or  a  tax  upon  the  author 
ities  1  It  was  dead — it  was  buried — and  was  forgotten! 
Such  had  been  the  condition  of  its  father,  for  a  week,  that 
he  knew  little  about  the  affair,  at  all — when  it  was  born,  or 
when  it  was  laid  beneath  the  sod.  Its  mother  still  suffered 
on,  and,  attended  only  by  Dolly  (when  she  could  steal  a  mo 
ment  or  two  by  day,  from  her  necessarily  active  labor)  and 
the  Dispensary  doctor,  she  at  last  began  to  improve  slowly, 
and,  after  six  weeks'  confinement,  was  able  once  more  to  help 
herself  a  little. 

But  she  was  entirely  dependent  upon  the  charity  of  her 


76  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

poor  neighbors,  and  she  strove  to  get  about  at  the  earliest  pos 
sible  moment,  without  regard  to  the  warnings  of  Dolly  and 
the  district  physician,  who  saw  the  peril  to  which  she  was 
exposed  by  her  anxiety  and  imprudence.  Yet  she  declared 
that  she  had  a  duty  to  perform,  and  though  the  task  was  a 
fearful  undertaking,  in  her  feeble  and  dubious  state  of  health, 
she  must  find  some  means  to  save  herself  and  her  babes  from 
starvation.  She  felt  that  her  afflictions  were  heavy,  indeed, 
but  she  relied  humbly  in  Providence,  and  still  believed  that 
"  the  back  would  be  fitted  to  its  burden !" 

Poor  Annie!  Poor,  heart-broken,  wearied,  woe-stricken, 
yet  hopeful  Annie  Ellson !  How  little  did  she  dream  what 
Fate  had  still  in  store  for  her,  in  the  undeveloped  future ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BEDLAM! 


'  The  deepest  ice  that  ever  froze — 
Can  only  o'er  the  surface  close ; 
The  living  stream  lies  quick  below — 
And  flows — and  can  not  cease  to  flow !" 


As  we  have  already  noted,  the  strictest  injunctions  were 
given  by  old  Brittan  to  his  household,  after  the  elopement 
and  marriage  of  his  daughter,  that  on  no  consideration  what 
ever  should  any  of  his  servants  or  attaches  communicate  with 
Annie,  upon  pain  of  instant  dismissal  from  his  service ;  and 
further,  that  if  she  intruded  herself  upon  his  premises,  it 
should  become  the  duty  of  any  and  every  attendant  in  his 
house  to  eject  her,  forthwith,  without  parley  or  explanation. 

But  the  daughter  of  the  haughty  and  arrogant  Anthony 
Brittan  had  too  much  of  her  father's  blood  coursing  in  her 
veins  to  permit  herself  to  be  placed,  voluntarily,  in  a  position 
that  might  compromise  her  feelings  and  her  person,  in  this 
manner,  for  she  knew  the  determined  disposition  of  her  father, 
and  she  preferred  to  wait  for  time  to  correct  his  ill  temper, 
rather  than  risk  any  disgrace  and  contumely  at  the  hands  of 
his  meuials. 

But  she  really  reckoned  without  her  host,  and  waited  in 


78  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

vain.  After  a  time,  tlie  obdurate  old  man  merely  replied  that 
she  was  dead,  when  Annie  was  casually  inquired  for,  and 
years  passed  away,  after  her  nuptials,  without  her  ever  seeing 
her  unnatural  parent,  or  hearing  from  him,  in  any  manner 
whatever,  directly. 

But  Annie  rallied  after  her  last  accouchement,  though  her  at 
tendant  and  the  district  charity-doctor  had,  at  one  time,  enter 
tained  very  little  hope  of  her  recovery  from  the  serious  illness 
we  have  already  described. 

Through  the  aid  of  Dolly  Curtain,  she  at  last  obtained  some 
needle-work,  by  which  means  she  contrived,  for  a  little  time, 
to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  though  the  labor  was  trying 
to  her,  inexperienced  as  she  was,  and  the  pay  uncertain  and 
indifferent,  at  best.  She  was  hurrying  home,  one  afternoon, 
with  a  huge  bundle  in  her  arms,  from  the  warehouse  that  fur 
nished  her  with  coarse  clothing  to  make  up,  when  she  sud 
denly  encountered  the  burly  figure  of  her  former  servant,  who 
was  still  in  her  father's  service — the  veritable  Nappo — who 
recognized  her,  but  who  had  not  seen  her  before  for  many  a 
long  and  weary  year. 

The  negro  had  grown  portly  since  she  met  him  last,  but 
there  was  no  mistaking  his  form  and  features. 

" God-a-massy,  Missus  Annie!"  exclaimed  her  sable  ac 
quaintance,  "  w'y  dis  is  n't  you  ?"  and  the  well-fed  attendant 
of  old  Brittan  could  really  scarcely  believe  the  evidence  of  his 
own  vision. 

Mrs.  Ellson  halted,  and  then  replied,  "  Do  you  remember 
me,  Nappo  P  " 

"Wot  you  doin'  wid  dat  bun'le,  missus?  Whar  you 
gwine  to?  Whar  you  bin?  Wot  de  debble — beg  pard'n, 


BEDLAM.  79 

missus — but  massa  say  you  dead,  long  'go.  Ain't  you  dead, 
missus  ?  Was  n't  you  dead,  no  how  ?" 

The  poor  African  had  no  words  at  command  for  this  un 
expected  interview,  and  he  did  not  know  how  to  act,  or  what 
he  should  say  under  the  circumstances. 

The  announcement  that  Nappo  made  sounded  fearfully 
strange  to  the  ears  of  poor  Annie,  albeit  she  had  long  been 
accustomed  to  reproach  and  abuse.  But  those  words  cut  her 
to  the  heart ! 

"Dead,"  echoed  Annie;  "no,  no!  he  did  not  say  that, 
Nappo,  did  he  2" 

"  Dat  's  wot  massa  say,,  two,  tree,  four  hunderd  time, 
missus."  (The  subject  had  never  been  mentioned  but  twice 
in  Nappe's  hearing !) 

"  You  see  me,  Nappo,  nevertheless,  alive,  though  somewhat 
changed  since  the  old  times  when  I  knew  a  father's  love,  and 
the  comforts  of  a  home.  I  have  no  home  now,  Nappo !" 

"  No  home !"  exclaimed  the  negro,  "  no  home  ?  Whar  you 
lib  den,  missus  ?" 

"  It  does  n't  matter,  Nappo.  Are  you  still  in  the  employ 
of  your  master  Brittan  2" 

"  Yis,  missus." 

"  And  does  he  treat  you  well  ?" 

"  Well  as  ever,  missus — but  gib  me  de  bun'le,  missus,"  he 
continued. 

"  No ;  you  will  jeopardize  yourself,  and  lose  your  place,  if 
you  should  be  seen  serving  me  in  this  way,  Nappo." 

"  Nebber  min'  dat,  missus.  I  ken  git  anodder,"  and  he  in 
stantly  took  the  parcel  out  of  her  hands. 

*'  Now,  missy,  you  go  on,  an'  Nappo  '11  follow.     Go  rite 


80  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

'long ;  an'  ef  I  ken  do  any  good  for  you  I  '11  do  it,  and  massa 
may  sware  de  legs  off  ob  him,  if  he  likes.  God  hab  massy  on 
de  poor  cretur !"  he  added,  as  Annie  went  forward,  rather  than 
risk  a  scene  upon  the  pavement  in  public.  And  five  minutes 
afterward,  with  Nappo  close  at  her  heels,  she  arrived  before 
the  little  low  arch  that  led  to  her  humble  abode,  in  the  rear 
of  the  Street  we  first  described  in  these  pages. 

It  was  a  severe  blow  to  her  already  lacerated  heart,  and  she 
would  gladly  have  prevented  the  old  servant  of  herself  and 
her  father  from  entering  her  miserable  domicile  ;  but  Nappo 
insisted  upon  carrying  the  bundle  up  the  creaking  stairs,  in 
spite  of  her  remonstrances  and  entreaties. 

"I  don't  want  to  do  nuff'n  to  disbleege  nobody,"  said  the 
good-hearted  fellow,  "  but,  in  de  Lord's  name,  missy,  wot  all 
dis  mean  ?  You  don't  lib  'ere  ?" 

"  I  am  very  poor  now,  Nappo,"  said  Annie,  "  and,  although 
I  preferred  to  save  you  the  trouble  and  myself  the  mortifica 
tion  of  this  visit  on  your  part,  yet  you  see  me  as  I  am — alone, 
without  the  means  to  support  myself,  or  my  two  little  ones, 
except  by  what  I  can  earn  from  making  up  the  clothing  I  get 
from  a  house  near  by,  a  quantity  of  which  I  was  bearing 
hither  when  you  met  me.  Your  master — my  father — refuses 
to  aid  me ;  my  husband  is  sick,  and  I  am  driven  to  the  sad 
extreme  which  you  now  witness." 

Nappo  could  not  control  himself!  He  wept  like  a  child. 
And  scarcely  vouchsafing  a  word  by  way  of  reply,  simply  re 
marked,  "  I  '11  come  back,  missus,  presently,"  and  darted  from 
the  house. 

Without  the  slightest  delay,  and  forgetting  all  considera 
tions,  or  the  repeated  directions  promulgated  by  her  father,. 


BEDLAM.  81 

Nappo  rushed  home,  and  instantly  forced  himself  into  old 
Brittan's  presence. 

"  Beg  pard'n,  massa,"  he  said,  all  out  of  breath  with  his 
unusual  foot  exercise,  "  but  I  wus  gwine  down  street  jes  now, 
haf  'nour  'go,  and  I  seed  Missus  Annie — and  I — " 

"  Saw  who  ?"  yelled  the  old  man,  quickly. 

"Missus." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  '  missus'  ?" 

"  W'y,  Missus  Annie." 

"  No  you  did  n't,  you  scoundrel !" 

"  'Fore  God,  massa,  I  seed  Missy  Annie.  An'  I  know'd  her 
for  sart'n ;  an'  I  speak  wid  her.  An'  she  say — " 

"You  spoke  to  her,  you  black  rascal  3" 

"  Yis,  massa,  o'  course  I  did,  w'en  missus  spoke  to  me.  Ob 
course." 

"  Have  n't  I  told  you  your  mistress  was  dead  ?"  screamed 
Brittan,  enraged.  "And  haven't  I  bid  you  to  attend  to  my 
business,  and  keep  yourself  at  home,  and  not — " 

"  But,  massa,"  continued  Nappo,  astounded  at  the  man's  ex 
traordinary  words  and  manner. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  throttle  you,  you  infernal  devil's 
imp  !"  continued  old  Brittan. 

"  Oh,  Lord !  No,  massa,  no— no !"  screamed  Nappo,  amid 
his  terror  and  ignorance. 

"  Then  look  you !  you  ignorant  lump  of  ebony,"  continued 
Brittan,  springing  fiercely  up,  and  seizing  his  servant  stoutly 
by  the  throat,  "if  you  ever  mention  that  name  again  in  my 
presence,  if  you  ever  speak  it  to  any  body  else,  or  if  I  ever 
hear  of  your  knowing  any  thing  of  her,  or  hers,  directly  or 
indirectly,  remember,  I  '11  choke  you !  Do  you  mind  ?n 

4* 


82  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  Yis,  sail — yis,  sail !"  shouted  poor  Nappo,  as  well  as  he 
could  through  his  half-closed  wind-pipe,  that  old  Brittan 
clutched  in  his  maddened  gripe. 

"  Go  then,"  bellowed  his  enraged  master,  as  he  gave  Nappo 
a  severe  buffet  on  the  side  of  the  head  with  "his  clinched 
hand,  and  another  with  his  riding-boot,  as  the  frightened 
negro  sprang  from  his  grasp.  "  Go  !•  and  if  I  hear  of  your 
leaving  this  house,  upon  any  pretense  whatever,  for  the  next 
week — for  seven  days,  mind  you,  you  treacherous  thief — 
I  '11  send  the  sheriff  after  you." 

This  threat,  enforced  with  a  favorite  oath,  had  the  desired 
effect  upon  the  nerves  of  the  negro,  who  was  desperately 
alarmed,  and  who  entertained  the  belief  that  his  master  had 
the  entire  right  to  dispose  of  him,  body  and  soul,  when  and 
how  it  might  please  him.  Skulking  down  the  stairs,  he  took 
care  that  Brittan's  directions,  so  emphatically  expressed,  should 
not  be  disobeyed  !  He  did  not  leave  his  master's  residence, 
for  a  moment,  during  the  next  ten  days,  and  the  name  of  his 
"  missus,"  whom  he  heartily  sympathized  with,  notwithstand 
ing,  was  in  no  way  alluded  to  by  him  during  that  period. 

The  intentions  of  the  humble  African  were  good,  and  when 
he  left  the  desolate  tenement  of  her  whom  he  had  formerly 
known  as  the  cherished  daughter  of  his  opulent  master,  he 
purposed  to  return  forthwith,  as  he  imagined,  in  his  innocence, 
with  Brittan's  carriage,  to  bear  to  her  father's  embrace  what 
he  supposed  to  be  his  long-lost  child  !  He  fancied  that  the 
intelligence  he  carried  to  the  Englishman  would  prove  most 
welcome  news,  and  that  the  parent  would  fly  with  him  to 
press  to  his  heart  and  succor  the  suffering  victim  of — lie  knew 
not  what.  His  surprise  and  consternation  at  the  treatment 


BEDLAM.  83 

he  encountered  may  be  well  imagined ;  and  the  fears  he  sub 
sequently  felt  were  so  serious  that  he  dared  not  open  his  lips 
on  the  subject  to  any  living  soul. 

Annie  Ellson  saw  nothing  more  of  Nappo,  and  she  readily 
conjectured  what  had  transpired.  She  was  satisfied  that  her 
humble  friend  had  gone  directly  to  her  father,  probably,  in  his 
anxiety  to  save  her,  and  she  entertained  no  doubt  of  the 
result. 

She  went  to  her  toil,  again,  and  amid  her  zealous  endeavors 
to  accomplish  what  she  deemed  necessary  to  save  herself  and 
her  children  from  a  worse  fate  than  they  had  yet  experienced, 
she  overtasked  her  powers — but  frail  and  weakly  at  the  best — 
and,  in  a  few  days,  found  herself  prostrated  again  upon  a  fe 
vered  pillow.  The  kindly  and  careful  nursing  of  poor  Dolly 
Curtain,  the  attention  of  the  Dispensary  physician,  the  consol 
ing  words  and  solicitous  visits  of  the  generous  Mr.  Goodson, 
availed  her  nothing. 

Her  malady  increased,  the  fever  grew  hourly  more  threat 
ening,  the  delicate  nerves  of  the  invalid  had  received  a  more 
trying  shock  than  ever  before.  And  in  the  midst  of  all,  the 
cruel  husband  returned,  after  a  week's  absence,  raving  from 
the  horrible  effects  of  recent  excesses. 

Reckless  of  consequences,  ferocious  in  his  temporary  delir 
ium,  frantic  in  his  gestures  and  deportment,  he  hurried  into 
the  sick  room,  in  spite  of  opposition,  declaring  that  all  the 
world  had  turned  upon  him  in  his  adversity,  and  swearing  ven 
geance  upon  Brittan,  his  wife,  his  children,  and  his  neighbors. 

Dolly  stood  boldly  at  the  door  to  impede  the  entrance  of 
the  dangerous  man,  but  he  hurled  her  aside  and  sprang  wildly 
into  the  room.  He  seized  his  boy,  who  chanced  to  be  near 


84  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

Iris  mother's  bed,  and  dashed  him  madly  across  the  apart 
ment,  in  his  frenzy,  with  a  force  that  periled  the  child's  ex 
istence.  Carrie  was  removed  out  of  his.  reach,  seasonably, 
while  Dolly  shrieked  aloud  for  help. 

Grasping  the  poor  woman  by  the  arms,  he  again  dashed 
her  headlong  across  the  narrow  entry,  where  she  lay  for  some 
minutes,  stunned  by  the  fall,  but  not  seriously  injured,  as  it 
happened.  Then,  returning  to  his  own  room,  he  caught  up 
the  burning  lamp,  and  deliberately  thrust  it  into  the  corner  of 
the  straw  bed,  upon  which  lay  the  helpless  form  of  his  wife, 
and,  with  a  hellish  shriek,  danced  across  the  floor  at  behold 
ing  the  clothes  and  mattrass  in  flames ! 

"  Help,  help  !  murder  !"  yelled  Dolly  Curtain. 

"  Help !  murder !"  echoed  the  maniac  drunkard ;  and  the 
screams  of  the  boy,  the  shouting  of  poor  Dolly,  and  the 
piercing  groans  of  the  wife,  who  was  being  roasted  alive, 
soon  brought  assistance  from  without. 

"  Ha,  ha,  7ta  /"  roared  the  madman,  as  he  continued  to 
jump  and  toss  his  clinched  hands  in  the  air  ;  "  ha,  ha !  that 's 
it — yell — shout  away !  Murder !  Who 's  murdered  but  me  ? 
I  say  murder,  too !  Hurra !  Ha,  ha,  ha  /" 

A  brace  of  watchmen  tumbled  up  the  stairs,  and  the 
wretched  man  was  seized  in  the  midst  of  his  delirium. 

"  Save  her,  save  her  /"  screamed  Dolly,  pointing  to  the 
burning  bed.  "  Quick !  for  God's  sake,  save  the  woman  !" 

"  The  house  is  on  fire,"  said  one  of  the  night-guardians. 

"  Well,  Bowson,  we  've  got  our  hands  full  with  this  subject, 
I  'm  thinking,"  responded  the  other,  as  Ellson  struggled  fear 
fully  between  the  two  men.  But  they  forced  him  down  the 
stairs,  and  finally  out  upon  the  walk. 


BEDLAM.  85 

"  Spring  your  rattle,"  suggested  the  first  speaker. 

"  Spring  the  devil !  How  am  I  to  spring  any  tiling,  now  ? 
He  's  stronger  than  a  horse.  Knock  him  down !"  was  the  re 
ply  ;  and  down  went  the  prisoner,  at  the  word.  He  was 
quickly  ironed  and  secured,  and  after  this  summary  perform 
ance  additional  aid  came  up. 

The  smoke  was  pouring  out  from  the  doors  and  windows, 
and  Dolly  Curtain  was  encountered  upon  the  rickety  stairway, 
bearing  the  body  of  a  female,  wrapped  hurriedly  in  an  old 
blanket.  Another  woman  came  down  with  two  children  in 
her  arms,  and  the  alarm  of  fire  became  general.  Before  the 
wife  and  little  ones  could  possibly  be  bestowed  in  a  place  of 
temporary  shelter,  the  flames  had  communicated  to  the  ceil 
ing,  and  the  work  of  certain  destruction  had  commenced  in 
the  dilapidated  building. 

"  Fire !  fire  !  fire !"  broke  out  upon  the  night-stillness  from 
the  lungs  of  the  watchmen. 

"  Fire  !  fire !"  shouted  poor  Henry  Ellson,  in  his  continued 
madness.  "  Fire !  help !  murder !"  he  yelled ;  and  long  after  he 
was  placed  in  the  station-house  he  continued  to  shriek — "  Fire, 
murder,  fire !" 

The  old  house  and  its  contents,  every  thing  that  belonged 
to  the  unfortunate  Dolly  Curtain  and  her  over-head  neighbor, 
and  to  Ellson's  family,  was  destroyed  in  the  burning ;  but, 
luckily,  no  lives  were  sacrificed. 

Mrs.  Ellson  was  found  in  a  dreadful  condition,  subsequently, 
her  limbs  being  badly  scorched.  During  her  removal  from 
the  house  she  had  taken  a  violent  cold,  and  her  fever,  hitherto 
fearful  enough,  had  thus  been  greatly  augmented.  Before  day 
break  she  became  a  raving  maniac,  and  the  cries  she  sent  up, 


86  THERAG-PICKEK. 

from  distress  of  mind  and  agony  of  body,  were  heart-rending 
to  those  who  were  'compelled  to  hear  them. 

" Don't  hurt  him"  she  said,  in  her  piteous  tones,  " don't 
hurt  Henry !  He  is  innocent !  /  did  it — I,  I,  //  Don't — 
don't !  Toney !  Carrie !  come  here ;  don't  you  see  poor 
father  there  ?  Save  him — save  him  !  Save  my  husband  !" 

She  became  more  calm  at  last,  but  gave  no  signs  of  present 
consciousness.  She  was  removed  to  the  dwelling  of  a  neigh 
bor,  thence  to  the  hospital,  and  finally  to  the  Lunatic  Asylum. 

For  three  weeks  Dolly  attended  her,  but  she  grew  worse 
and  worse.  Her  fever  left  her  for  a  time,  but  she  recognized 
no  one,  not  even  her  babes,  her  long-loved  little  ones.  And 
within  six  weeks,  she  was  placed  in  close  quarters,  under  sur 
veillance,  as  a  confirmed  and  thorough  lunatic. 

This,  then,  was  the  "  beginning  of  the  end."  Annie  Ellson, 
the  proud  and  beautiful  daughter  of  the  wealthy  Brittan — the 
once  gentle  girl,  who  had  been  reared  in  luxury  and  ease,  and 
who  had  never  known  a  shade  of  sorrow  till  two  years  after 
her  marriage  with  the  erring  husband  of  her  choice — Annie 
Brittan,  the  heart-broken  wife,  whose  form  was  now  mutilated, 
find  whose  mind  was  shattered  by  crushing  adversity,  was  a 
helpless  inmate  of  the  county  mad-house ! 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A     SURPRISE. 

Mate  any  shape  but  that, 

And  my  firm  nerves  shall  never  tremble  1 

SHAKESPEAKE. 

THE  inexorable  and  brutish  Brittan  had  sworn  in  his  flinty 
heart  that  he  would  never  forgive  or  recognize  his  child  again, 
and  for  a  while  his  base  conduct  was  winked  at  by  those  who 
surrounded  him,  many  of  whom,  even,  had  acquainted  them 
selves  with  the  details  of  the  flimsy  cause  of  his  unnatural  bit 
terness  toward  his  really  innocent  victim. 

But,  as  there  is  a  termination  to  this  sort  of  tolerance,  after 
a  time,  and  as  such  inexcusably  cruel  persecution  oftener  than 
otherwise  results  in  sympathy  for  the  weaker  party  to  such  a 
cause — the  more  especially  when  its  object 'is  a  gentle  and 
loving  woman — so,  when  the  newspapers  of  the  day  announced 
the  recent  fire  that  had  occurred,  and  alluded  to  the  poor  per 
son  who  had  then  and  there  been  so  endangered,  as  "  a  young 
woman  belonging  to  a  family  of  wealth,  who  had  discarded 
and  deserted  her,  and  had  left  .her  amid  her  misery  to  suffer 
on,"  the  tide  turned ;  and  the  tyrant  father  was  sought  out, 
and  soon  found  himself  besieged  by  benevolent  charity-seekers, 
and  zealous  friends  of  the  unfortunate  Annie,  who  besought 


88  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

him  to  relent,  and  save  his  abused  and  wretched  daughter 
from  the  terrible  fate  that  now  imminently  threatened  her. 

He  raved  and  cursed  more  furiously  than  ever,  and  wrought 
himself  into  a  paroxysm  of  opposition  at  the  importunity  of 
those  who  presumed  thus  to  approach  him. 

"  Let  her  die,"  he  cried  ;  "  she 's  already  dead,  I  say,  and 
I  'm  glad  of  it.  I  will  hear  nothing,  submit  to  nothing,  and 
he  rudely  drove  the  applicants  from  his  presence,  with  fearful 
oaths  and  curses  for  their  reward ! 

He  retired  to  his  private  library,  in  search  of  relaxation 
after  his  late  excitement,  and  his  rage  had  scarcely  half- 
subsided  when  Nappo  entered,  and  informed  him  that  a 
stranger  was  in  waiting  to  confer  with  him  in  the  reception- 
room. 

"  "What  now  ?"  screamed  old  Brittan,  springing  to  his  feet 
and  starting  the  servant  by  his  fierceness  of  manner.  "  More 
cringers  ?  More  begging,  starving,  graceless  go-betweens  ? 
Who  let  him  in?  Who  opened  the  door?  Who — why — 
look  you,  you  devil's  imp  !  you  mean  I  shall  kill  you  yet — I 
know  you  do !" 

"  De  gen'leman  call,  an'  I — I — " 

"  Gentleman  !  I  tell  you  he 's  a  beggar,  a  hound,  a  lackey, 
a  damned  jackall-thief,  and  you  know  it.  He  comes  here  to — - 
to  rob  me  !  To — to — turn  him  out !  Damn  him,  turn  him 
out  doors,  I  say — out  the  window  !  I'll  see  no  more  of  'em, 
do  you  hear — no  more  !  Who  is  he  ?  What 's  his  name  ? 
Ask  him  what  he  wants.  I  won't  see  him.  I  won't  hear  a 
word  he  has  to  say.  He 's  a — a — " 

"  He  gib  me  dis  card,"  ventured  Nappo  at  this  juncture, 
"  an  I  link  he  's  a  gen'leman,  sah." 


A     SURPRISE.  89 

"  Card  ?  "Who — what  is  it  ?"  queried  old  Brittan,  snatching 
it  from  Nappo's  hand. 

And  he  read  upon  it,  "  RALPH  TASKEM.     Tennessee" 

"  Eh  ?"  muttered  Brittan,  reading  the  card  over,  "  Taskem, 
Taskem?  Tennessee.  That's  a  new  name  to  me.  I — I — 
don't  know  him.  I  think,  Nappo — I  don't  think  he's  one  of 
the — a — perhaps  he  is  n't." 

"  So  I  tink,  myse'f,"  ventured  Nappo,  glad  to  notice  the 
mollifying  effect  produced  on  his  master's  nerves  by  the  dis 
covery  he  seemed  to  have  made,  but  which  the  servant  did 
not  in  any  wise  comprehend.  "  I  tink  so  too,  sah." 

"  Well,  Nappo,  I  did  n't — did  n't  speak  very  loud,  did  I  ?" 

"No,  sah,  no,"  responded  Nappo,  cunningly,  and  disposed 
to  coincide  with  his  erratic  master,  lest  that  worthy  should 
floor  him  for  opposing  his  assertion. 

"  The  gentleman  could  n't  have  overheard  my — my  playful  re 
marks  just  now,  could  he,  possibly,  Nappo  ?"  continued  Brittan. 

"  No,  sah.  De  gen'leman  's  in  de  drawin-room,  more  'n 
firty  feet  off;  an'  you  nebber  speaks  sose  noboddy  ken  hear 
you — w'en  you — " 

Brittan  scowled,  and  said  in  a  softened  tone  : 

"  Tell  the  gentleman  I  will  wait  upon  him  in  a  moment, 
Nappo."  » 

And,  as  the  servant  went  out,  Mr.  Brittan  turned  to  his 
mirror,  adjusted  his  cravat,  and  with  a  cough  and  a  hem  or 
two  to  recompose  himself,  he  entered  the  apartment  where 
sat  Ralph  Taskem,  Esq.,  from  Tennessee,  awaiting  his  coming  ; 
while  Nappo,  in  a  singularly  thoughtful  mood,  disappeared. 

"  Mr.  Brittan,  I  persume,"  remarked  the  Southerner,  as  the 
Englishman  came  toward  him  with  extended  hand. 


90  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  Mr.  Taskem,"  responded  the  other,  "  I  am  happy  to  see 
you.  Recently  from  the  south,  Mr.  Taskem  ?" 

"  Within  a  week,  sir,"  said  the  Tennessee  man. 

Brittan  was  reassured  upon  hearing  the  announcement,  for 
he  felt  convinced  that  this  man,  at  least,  could  know  nothing 
of  his  domestic  troubles ;  and  he,  therefore,  became  quickly 
composed,  and  anxious  to  proceed  with  the  business  of  the 
stranger,  whatever  it  might  be. 

Mr.  Taskem  was  a  red-haired,  freckled-faced,  bluff-looking 
man  of  five-and-forty,  perhaps.  His  features  were  in  nowise 
remarkable,  and  he  M'ould  move  unobserved  in  a  crowd,  unless 
the  selfish  and  avaricious  twinkling  in  his  clear  gray  eye 
might  have  challenged  a  passing  observation.  He  was  hand 
somely  dressed,  his  manner  was  off-hand  and  abrupt,  but  his 
general  appearance  struck  the  Englishman  favorably,  at 
sight. 

Nappo  thought  the  matter  over  after  he  left  the  stranger 
the  second  time,  and,  somehow  or  other,  he  imagined  that 
he  had  seen  this  person  before,  somewhere,  at  some  remote, 
indefinite  period,  within  his  remembrance.  But  he  could  not 
determine  how,  or  when,  or  where.  It  was  a  matter  of  no 
consequence,  he  thought,  however,  and  he  soon  ceased  to 
dwell  upon  the  circumstance. 

"  My  business  with  yer,  Mr.  Brittan,"  said  the  caller,  at 
length,  "  is  none  o'  the  pleasantest.  I  'm  a  plain  spoken  man, 
myself,  an'  I  think  a  heap  o'  plain  dealin'  people,  yer  see." 

"  Exactly — exactly,  Mr.  Tasker,"  said  Brittan,  slightly  con 
cerned  for  the  next  announcement. 

"  Taskem,  if  yer  please,"  said  the  Southerner,  correcting 
Brittan's  mispronunciation  of  his  name. 


A    SURPRISE.  91 

"  I  say  it 's  mighty  onpleasant,  sir,  to  interfere  in  any  gen 
tleman's  domestic  arrange — " 

"Just  as  I  supposed,"  remarked  Brittan,  beginning  to 
warm  up  again;'  "just  as  I  expected.  You've  come  here  to 
meddle  with,  my  private  family  affairs,  and  I — " 

"  'Not  that,  quite,"  interposed  Mr.  Taskem,  quickly.  "  Don't 
misonderstan'  me,  sir." 

"I  know  what  you're  coming  to,  Tasker — it's  the  old 
story.  She  's  dead,  I  tell  you — dead  to  me  and  mine,  for 
ever,  s'  elp  me — " 

She  ?"  said  Taskem,  stopping  him  in  the  midst  of  his  cus 
tomary  finale ;  "  she  ?  You  mean  the  old  woman ;  well,  she 
arn't  dead ;  leastwise  she  's  caved  sence  I  left  Memphis,  three 
weeks  ago." 

"  Very  well,"  continued  Brittan,  zealously  ;  "  I  don't  know 
about  that.  In  my  domestic  concerns  I  allow  nobody  to 
advise  me  or  dictate  to  me." 

"  But  the  law,"  continued  Taskem. 

"  There  's  no  law  to  compel  me  to  budge  an  inch  in  my 
long  since  settled  determination,"  added  the  Englishman,  wax 
ing  more  and  more  vehement  in  his  language.  "  There 's 
no  such  law,  and  I — " 

"  Then  ther  's  a  moral  law,  sir,"  replied  Taskem  ;  "  a  moral 
dooty  we  owe  to  each  other." 

"  I  won't  listen  to  it,  sir." 

"  There  's  the  Constitution." 

"  Curse  the  Constitution  !  I  'm  a  free  man — an  Eng 
lishman — a  free  agent !  What 's  mine 's  mine,  and  I  'm 
bound  to  protect  my  property  and  myself,  and  I  submit  to 
no—" 


92  THE     BAG-PICKER. 

"  But,  Brittan,  ye  're  a  reasonable  man,  o'  course.  Ef  we 
can  show  yer — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  shown  any  thing.  I  Ve  seen  enough 
— enough  !  and  I  won't  look  at  compromises." 

"Well,  then,"  continued  Tashem,  rising  as  if  to  go,  and 
altogether  undisturbed  by  Brittan's  rudeness  toward  him, 
"  I  Ve  got  all  the  papers,  and  I  ken  prove  it,  easy  's  open  and 
shet.  I  'd  ruther  have  hed  no  trouble  with  yer  about  him> 
but,  ef  you  're  ugly,  I  must  do  my  next  best."  And  he  but 
toned  up  his  coat  again. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE     EXPLANATION. 


-Tour  pardon,  Master  Brooke. 


That 's  quite  another  thing !    Your  health,  sir." 

THE  two  men  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  but 
Tashem  offered  nothing  more.  Brittan  was  confused. 

"  Him  ?"  he  queried,  perceiving  that  there  was  an  evident 
misunderstanding,  in  some  way  ;  "  who  do  you  mean  by  him  ? 
He  doesn't  expect  any  thing  at  my  hands,  does  he?  He 
has  n't  the  impudence  to — to — set  up  any — any  claim  on  me, 
for  God's  sake  !  Has  he  ?  I  'm  an  Englishman,  Mr.  Tashem ; 
a  Briton,  born  and  bred.  I  've  been  in  this  country  twenty 
years  and  more,  and  I  've  endeavored  to  act  like  a  good  cit 
izen  and  a — a — Christian.  But,  if  that 's  his  game — if  he 
supposes  he  can  swindle  me  in  that  way — in  this  way,  I  mean 
— he 's  damnably  mistaken !  I  beg  pardon  for  swearing,  sir, 
but  you  don't  know  what  I  've  suffered  with  him,  and  her — 
you  don't — and  I'll  sink  every  dollar  I  'm  worth,  every  shil 
ling,  and  work  my  passage  back  to  London,  before  I  '11  give 
him  or  her  a  farthing.  You  're  a  lawyer.  I  see  it.  You  Ve 
got  the  papers.  Perhaps  you're  a  sheriff.  Go  on,  then! 
Attach,  seize,  sell  me  out !  I  won't  give  up,  I  tell  you.  I 


94  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

won't  yield !  I  '11  curse  'em — curse  him  and  her,  both  of  'em, 
as  long  as  I  have  breath !  And  when  I  'm  dead,  my  ghost — 
my  dead  ghost — shall  haunt  'em  when  they  're  asleep  at 
night,  in  each  other's  arms.  I  will,  so  help  me  — ,  I  Avill !" 

Nappo  passed  through  the  hall  just  as  his  employer  was 
uttering  this  emphatic  speech,  and  he  trembled  for  the  fate 
of  the  stranger,  whoever  he  was,  for  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  disposition  and  the  words  of  his  excited  and  furious 
master.  Poor  Nappo !  He  little  suspected  Avho  that  stranger 
was,  and  less  of  the  fatal  object  of  Tashem's  present  mission  ! 

"  Look  yere,  Brittan,"  said  Taskem,  again.  "  Yer  chafing 
for  nothing.  I  'm  no  lawyer,  at  all.  Yer  've  got  a  piece  o' 
my  property  yere,  in  yer  house,  an'  I  Ve  come  yere  to  show 
yer  the  evidence  that  it's  mine.  Ef  yer  '11  listen,  I  '11  explain 
it  to  yer." 

"  Property  ?"  queried  Brittan,  cooling  off  as  suddenly  as 
he  had  become  heated ;  "  don't  you  mean  to  beg,  and  pester 
me  about  her,  or — a — him  ?" 

"  Nothin'  o'  the  sort.  My  friend,  John  Schaffer,  of  Ken 
tucky,  bought  a  nigger  at- public  vandoo,  five-and-twenty  year 
ago,  an'  she  had  a  boy  'at  come  with  her,~yer  see.  Well,  w'en 
the  youngling  was  ten  year  old,  she  run  away  and  tuk  him 
with  'er.  Arter  a  while  they  ketched  her  ag'in,  an'  tuk  keer 
that  she  should  n't  get  off  a  second  time.  But  the  boy  was 
inissin',  an'  could  n't  be  tracked.  They  sent  him  up  to  Can- 
ady,  an'  then  he  was  brought,  by  some  of  the  busy-bodies, 
down  yere.  A  friend  of  John's  was  up  yere  two  months  ago, 
an'  he  see  the  boy  in  the  street,  an'  followed  him  yere,  to  yer 
house.  I  bought  him  at  a  ventur',  yer  see,  of  Schaffer.  I 
know'd  his  mother,  an'  him,  too.  I  Ve  cyme  on  yere,  and  I 


THE     EXPLANATION.  95 

can  swear  to  him,  though  I  hain't  seen  him,  before,  sence  he 
was  knee  high.  His  name  ar'  n't  changed,  even  ;  an'  I  sh'ud 
know  him,  now,  'mong  a  heap  o'  niggers." 

"  Well,  well,  Mr.  Taskem,"  said  Brittan,  greatly  relieved  by 
this  story,  "  what — a — what 's  all  that  to  do  with  me  ?" 

"  Well,  that  Nappo  yer  Ve  got  yere  is  my  nigger  ;  that 's 
all,  Mr.  Brittan,"  replied  Taskem,  coolly. 

"  Nappo  !"  exclaimed  Brittan,  curiously.  Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  Nappo  was  ever  a  slave,  Mr.  Taskem  ?" 

"Nothin'  else,"  responded  the  stranger;  "an'  his  mother 
and  gran'mother  before  him." 

"  And  you  've  come  here  to — to — claim  him  ?" 

"  That 's  it ;  an'  I  take  it,  Mr.  Brittan,  yer  a  reasonable 
man,  I  say  ag'in.  People  give  yer  the  credit  o'  bein'  so,  an' 
all  I  want  is  what  b'longs  to  me,  yer  see." 

Brittan  was  an  Englishman  born.  He  hailed  from  the  laud 
that  is  lauded  as  the  home  of  freemen.  Yet,  in  his  heart,  he 
was  overjoyed  at  the  story  of  the  slave-hunter  before  him  !  The 
mission  of  Taskem  was  a  perfect  god-send  to  him.  It  smacked 
of  excitement.  It  savored  of  tyranny,  and  oppression,  and  petty 
power — the  power  of  the  devil  over  innocence  and  poverty  ! 

The  "  free-born  Briton"  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  the 
stranger  actively  watched  his  features.  Taskem  was  a  man 
of  the  world ;  he  could  read  human  nature  as  he  could  an 
open  book,  and  he  divined  the  very  thoughts  that  were  pass 
ing  in  Brittan's  mind,  though  the  latter  was  indifferent  to  the 
stranger's  surmises.  At  that  moment  occurred  the  turning- 
point  in  Brittan's  life !  With  a  fiendish  smile  of  satisfaction 
he  rose  from  his  seat,  and  sprung  the  bell-pull  violently.  The 
summons  was  quickly  answered  by  a  domestic. 


96  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  Wine,  Matthew — wine  and  cigars,"  he  said.  And,  as  the 
servant  retired,  he  approached  the  still  quiet  and  calculating 
Southerner  with — 

"  Taskem,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you !  Upon  niy  word — now 
that  I  know  you,"  (how  well  he  knew  this  man !)  he  con 
tinued,  "  I  'm  delighted  to  greet  you.  I  Ve  long  desired  the 
opportunity  to  meet  a  gentleman  like  yourself,  with — a — with 
whom  I  could  converse  freely  and  understand ingly  about  these 
matters  ;  with  which  I  'm  sure  you  must  be  conversant." 

Taskem  responded  cordially  to  the  advances  of  Brittan, 
whose  reputed  wealth  and  influence  were  so  great,  and  whom 
he  had  found  to  be  thus  approachable.  The  two  men  who 
had  thus  casually  met,  and  whose  heart-sentiments  were 
really  so  closely,  in  accord,  quickly  found  themselves  engaged 
in  earnest  and  confidential  intercourse. 

"  It 's  a  queer  circumstance,  this,"  said  Brittan,  passing  the 
wine,  "a  singular  meeting  upon  my  word.  But,  do  you 
know,  Taskem,  I  've  always  entertained  notions  very  favorable 
to  your  profession — that  is,  I  mean  toward  your  calling — or 
occupation,  rather." 

"  That  'ud  seem  sing'lar  at  fust  blush,"  responded  the 
Southerner,  "  but  gentlemen  ov  liberal  views,  like  yerself,  has 
no  occasion  to  feel  otherways.  Yer  see,  sir,  we  southern  mer 
chants  are  vilified  and  condemned  by  those  as  don't  'predate 
us.  But  w'en  gentlemen  look  at  the  subjeck  in  the  right 
sperrit,  they  allers  come  to  'gree  with  us.  I  've  seen  a  good 
many  'ntelligent  Englishmen  in  my  day,  an'  I  never  met  one, 
yit,  'at  didn't  think  as  we  do,  now — w'en  they  came  to  talk 
candidly  and  fairly."  (Taskem  had  never  seen  a  Briton  be 
fore  in  his  life !) 


THE     EXPLANATION.  97 

"  The  institution  of  slavery  is  a  blessing,  I  Ve  no  manner  of 
doubt,"  said  Brittan,  "  take  it  all  in  all.  And  do  you  know," 
he  continued  in  a  subdued  voice,  to  his  cunning  guest,  "  do 
you  know,  Taskem,  that  I  often  wish  my  money  was  invested 
in  that  very  kind  of  property  ?" 

"  Yer  don't  say  so  !"  exclaimed  Taskem,  really  surprised  at 
this  extraordinary  confession  on  the  part  of  his  entertainer. 

"  But  I  do,  though,  nevertheless,"  continued  Brittan.  "  And 
if  I  could  do  it — -judiciously,  you  know — I  'd  go  South  to  live, 
to-morrow !" 

"  Yer  would  ?"  replied  the  slave-hunter. 

"  I  would,  upon  my  honor." 

"  Then  w'y  don't  yer,  Brittan  ?  You  'd  make  a  capitle  pro 
prietor;  an'  the  thing '11  pay,  yer  see.  It'd  come  a  little 
squeamish-like  at  fust,  but  yer  'd  soon  git  us't  to  it.  An'  I  'd 
bet  my  life  on  it,  yer  'd  turn  out  a  regular  brick  in  the  pro 
fession  !" 

"He,  he,  he!"  laughed  Brittan,  at  this  thought.  The 
bitter,  unrelenting,  brutal  father  laughed!  He  prided  him 
self  upon  being  a  two-bottle  man ;  but  they  had  emptied  only 
two  bottjes  between  them,  thus  far,  yet  the  old  Englishman 
had  got  to  be  as  lively  as  a  cricket — a  fact  that  Taskem  did 
not  fail  to  observe. 

"  Taskem,"  he  said,  as  fresh  wine  came  in,  "  I  '11  help  you 
in  this  thing." 

"  What  thing  ?" 

"  Nappo's  affair." 

"  Ah — yes,  yes.     Ther  '11  be  no  trouble  though,  I  reck'n." 

"  It 's  a  good  while  back  to  prove  the  claim,  nevertheless," 
suggested  Brittan,  shrewdly. 


98  THERAG-PICKEIU 

"  Leave  me  to  manage  that." 
"  When  will  you  commence  ?" 
"  To-morrow ;  the  dockiments  are  all  ready." 
"  You  may  count  on  me,  Taskem ;  I  '11  be  your  friend." 
After  a  few  words  more,  the  two  knaves  separated,  to  meer 
at  Brittan's  house  on  the  following  day. 
Poor  Nappo's  fate  was  sealed ! 


CHAPTER    XV. 

A     KAY     OF     HOPE. 

SEVERAL  weeks  had  passed  away  since  the  night  of  the  un 
fortunate  house-burning.  The  true  cause  of  the  fire  had  been 
shrewdly  concealed,  through  the  management  of  Dolly  Cur 
tain,  who  was  alone  acquainted  with  its  real  origin.  She 
feared  the  severity  of  the  consequences  to  Ellson,  if  she  ex 
posed  him,  and  so  she  gave  such  an  account  of  the  falling  of 
the  candle  from  his  hand,  as  satisfied  all  inquiry  in  reference 
to  the  cause  of  the  supposed  accident. 

The  children  of  Ellson  had  been  taken  to  the  dwelling  of  a 
poor  neighbor  on  the  night  of  the  fire,  and  nearly  a  month 
had  elapsed  since  that  occurrence.  The  family  upon  whom 
little  Carrie  and  Toney  had  been  thus  unexpectedly  thrown, 
had  no  possible  means  of  providing  for  them,  however ;  and 
the  burden  was  found  so  onerous,  that  preparations  had  been 
made  to  place  the  unfortunate  little  ones  in  the  care  of  the 
city  authorities. 

Dolly  had  been  a  constant  attendant  upon  them  from  the 
night  of  their  separation  from  Mrs.  Ellson  (who  had  never 
since  shown  signs  of  any  consciousness  of  her  terrible  situa 
tion),  but  the  slender  means  of  the  poor  seamstress  could  per- 


100  THE     RAG-T     CKER. 

mit  no  curtailing  for  the  support  of  others.  With  all  her 
humble  exertions,  she  found  it  a  wearying  task  to  maintain 
herself;  and  she  was  forced  at  last  to  consent  that  the  children 
should  be  taken  in  charge  by  the  town. 

"  I  carn't  see,  for  my  part,"  murmured  the  woman  who  had 
temporarily  housed  the  children,  but  who  really  could  ill  afford 
the  bread  they  devoured,  "  I  carn't  see  for  the  life  o'  me,  why 
you  should  care  about  'em,  Miss  Curt'u.  Ef  they  wus  yourn, 
instead  of  her'u,  you  could  n't  take  on  wuss  about  'em  than 
you  now  do.  They  ain't  your'n,  be  they?"  asked  the  old 
woman,  finally,  as  if  she  suspected  that  there  might  possibly 
exist  such  a  relationship,  sub  rosa,  between  Dolly  and  the  little 
outcasts.  "  The  young  ones  ain't  yours,  eh  ?" 

This  question  aroused  the  ire  of  Dolly  Curtain,  and  she  ex 
claimed  : 

"  ISTo,  mum  ;  you  know  better — you  do  !" 

"  How  should  /  know  any  thing  of  'em,  I  'd  like  to  ask  ?" 
continued  the  woman.  "  All  I  knows  of  'em  is  that  you 
brought  'em  'ere,  an'  I  've  'sported  'em  as  long  as  I  'm  able  to. 
They  must  go  out  o'  this,  and  you  must  see  to  'em." 

"  Poor  little  things  !"  said  Dolly,  a  moment  afterward,  as 
she  took  the  children  into  her  own  chamber,  and  reflected 
upon  their  future  chances  in  life ;  "  poor,  deserted,  parentless 
children  !  Your  lot  is  cast  in  a  dreadful  place,  and  you  've 
none  to  take  you  by  the  hand,  now.  /  can't,"  continued 
Dolly,  as  the  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks,  "  I  can't  help 
you  no  longer.  I  would  if  I  could,  God  knows  I  would. 
But,"  she  continued,  suddenly  appearing  to  light  upon  a 
thread  of  hope,  "  he  might  do  something  for  'em." 

Dolly  was  thinking  of  their  grandfather,  Anthony  Brittan  ! 


A     RAY     OF     HOPE.  101 

She  did  not  know  much  about  this  man,  or  she  would  have 
halted  where  she  was.  She  had  heard  Annie  speak  of  her 
father,  and  she  had  an  indistinct  idea  that  Ellson  had  wronged 
him,  at  some  time  or  other,  for  which  offense  the  Englishman 
had  become  estranged  from  his  daughter. 

In  her  goodness  of  heart  and  her  honesty  of  purpose,  she 
resolved,  forthwith,  to  go  to  Brittan,  and  to  appeal  to  his  better 
nature.  She  would  take  the  babies  with  her — for  they  were 
but  infants  yet,  comparatively  ;  and  she  would  tell  him  a  tale 
that  would  reach  his  heart,  if  he  had  one. 

Pleasing  herself  mentally  with  this  new,  and,  to  her  mind, 
encouraging  scheme,  she  went  about  its  execution  directly. 
Time,  to  the  indigent  and  hard-toiling  Dolly  Curtain,  was 
emphatically  money.  She  worked  early  and  late  to  obtain 
the  scanty  pittance  she  was  able  to  earn  from  day  to  day,  and 
she  was  obliged  to  sacrifice  half  a  day  at  least  to  attend  to  this 
matter. 

"  Yet,"  she  argued,  "  it 's  my  duty,  I  s'pose.  If  they  were 
my  own,  I  couldn't  love  'em  better  than  I  now  do — for 
they  're  good  children,  considerin'  hoAV  they  've  been  brought 
up.  And  surely  the  man  whose  blood  flows  indirectly  in  their 
veins  won't  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  my  story.  I'll  tell  him  how 
his  poor  daughter  has  suffered,  how  good  little  Toney  always 
is,  how  he  's  named  after  him  (that 's  what  his  mother  says)," 
though  Dolly  could  n't  exactly  make  out  how  "  Toney"  bore 
any  affinity  to  Anthony.  "  I  '11  show  him  how  sweetly  little 
Carrie  can  sing  to  him,  and  he  '11  take  'em  under  his  own  care, 
and  make  a  gentleman  of  Toney  and  a  lady  of  dear  little 
Carrie.  That 's  what  Mr.  Brittan  '11  do,  I  'm  sure  he  will." 

And  as  the  poor  woman  thus  flattered  herself,  she  began  to 


102  THE     RAO -PICKER. 

wash  and  cleanse  the  little  ones  up,  preparatory  to  an  after 
noon  call  upon  their  aristocratic  and  flinty-hearted  grand 
parent,  who  Avas  now  busily  engaged  in  preparations  for  his 
final  departure  from  New-England,  and  was  little  anticipating 
a  visit  from  the  children  of  her  whom  he  had  cursed,  and  pur 
sued  with  such  merciless  vengeance. 

The  wearing  apparel  of  Toney  and  Carrie,  as  may  be  sup 
posed,  was  none  of  the  choicest.  Up  to  the  period  when  the 
now  maniac  mother  had  been  finally  stricken  down  by  disease, 
Annie  Ellson  had  contrived,  by  harsh  economy,  and  divers 
mendings  and  patchings,  to  keep  the  bodies  of  her  little  ones 
decently  covered  from  the  cold.  With  her  spare  earnings,  oc 
casionally,  she  even  obtained  a  cheap  bit  of  calico  or  flannel, 
which  she  made  up  into  garments  for  them — never  for  herself! 
And  then  she  cut  over  the  skirts  of  her  old  dresses,  from  time 
to  time,  and  worked  the  material  up  into  frocks  or  sacks  for 
her  darling  girl  or  boy,  so  that  they  generally  appeared  de 
cently  respectable,  and  always  comfortable. 

But  the  fire  had  destroyed  all  that  belonged  to  her,  or  to 
them,  and  they  were  thrust  forth  into  the  cold  with  only  the 
flimsy  night-garments  that  chanced  at  the  moment  to  cover 
their  nakedness. 

But  Dolly  had  gathered  together  a  few  straggling  articles 
of  clothing  from  among  her  poor  acquaintances,  and  the  chil 
dren  Avere  plainly  attired,  each  in  a  someAvhat  decent  suit.  To 
be  sure,  the  jacket  that  Toney  wore  Avas  the  cast-off  of  a  boy 
considerably  larger  than  himself,  and  the  frock  that  adorned 
the  petite  form  of  sweet  little  Carrie  was  much  too  lengthy 
for  the  child's  figure. 

But  the  children  AATere  very  cleanly  and  nice  in  their  persons, 


A    RAT     OF    HOPE.  10*3 

and  Dolly  had  taken  up  a  seam  in  tlio  big  jacket,  and  had 
put  a  tuck  in  the  long  dress.  Finally,  the  trio  were  in  readi 
ness  to  depart  on  their  visit  to  "  graiidpa  Brittan^ 

Dolly  Curtain  was  generally  in  pretty  good  spirits  with 
herself  and  all  the  world  beside,  but  she  thought  she  never 
felt  better  than  she  did  on  this  occasion ! 

Why  she  had  not  thought  of  this  very  plan  before,  seemed 
a  mystery  to  her.  She  had  heard  Mrs.  Ellson  mention  her 
father's  name,  but  there  had  never  yet  arisen  the  same  neces 
sity  for  calling  upon  him,  she  thought,  that  now  seemed  to 
present  itself,  Besides  this,  Annie  had  always  declined,  in 
Dolly's  presence,  to  appeal  to  him.  Now  the  case  was  al 
tered.  The  mother  had  been  removed  from  the  custody  of 
3ier  children  ;  the  infants  were  without  a  guardian  or  protect 
or  ;  they  were  of  Brittan's  own  flesh  and  blood ;  she  knew 
nothing  of  the  grandfather's  true  character;  the  little  ones 
must  go  to  the  alms-house  unless  he  interfered ;  and  she  made 
bold  to  call  upon  him,  and  demand  his  interference  in  this 
emergency. 

"  Now  you  're  looking  very  nice,"  said  Dolly,  proudly,  as 
-she  arranged  the  handsome  locks  of  the  children,  for  the  third 
or  fourth  time  since  they  had  been  washed,  "  and  you  're  goin' 
to  see  gran'pa,  both  of  you.  Oh,  but  he  '11  be  delighted  to 
•see  you,  looking  so  clean  and  so  pretty,  I  'm  sure  he  will." 

"  Who 's  gran'pa  ?"  queried  Toney. 

"  W'y,  gran'pa  Brittan,  to  be  sure  ;  your  own  gran'pa,  that 
lives  in  the  great  house  on  the  hill,  you  know." 

"  No — /don't  know,"  said  Toney ;  "  I  never  see  him." 

"  Me,  too,"  chimed  in  Carrie ;  "  /  never  see  'um." 

""  Well,  no  matter.     He  is  your  gran'pa,  notwithstanding," 


104  THE     RAO-PICKER. 

continued  Dolly,  kindly.  "  We  're  going  over  to  see  him,  and 
he  '11  be  very  glad  to  see  us,  and  we  '11  have  such  a  nice  walk, 
and  see  all  the  pretty  things  as  we  go.  And  Carrie  shall  sing 
to  him,  too,  and  he  '11  give  her  something  nice,  I  Ve  no  doubt," 
continued  Dolly,  chattering  on,  encouragingly,  to  the  children, 
who  did  not  seem  to  care  so  much  about  this  visit  as  she  de 
sired  they  should,  until  she  got  her  own  best  attire  on  (which 
was  poor  enough,  to  be  sure !),  and  then  she  said  : 
"  Now,  Toney — now,  Carrie — we  're  ready." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


THE     UNWELCOME     VISITORS. 


Fazio.    Dost  thou  know,  Bianca, 

Our  neighbor,  old  Bartolo  ? 
£ianca.    Yes,  yes.    Not  a  friend  hath  he, 

Nor  kindred — nor  familiar. 

MILMAN. 


WHEN  all  was  in  readiness,  and  Dolly  had  again  smoothed 
down  the  hair  of  Toney,  and  re-adjusted  his  coarse  cloth  cap, 
and  once  more  thrown  out  the  rich  glossy  curls  of  sweet 
little  Carrie  from  under  the  edges  of  the  faded  quilted  hood 
she  wore,  and,  for  the  third  time,  consulted  the  bit  of  broken 
looking-glass  that  was  stuck  upon  the  wall  of  her  room  with 
four  great-headed  pins,  to  see  that  her  own  person  was  "  pre 
sentable,"  she  said — 

"  Come,  little  ones" — and  the  trio  started  upon  their  expe 
dition. 

As  they  descended  the  old  stairs,  Dolly  continued  to  chat 
with  them,  and  aimed  to  impress  upon  them  the  importance 
of  "  doing  their  prettiest,"  when  they  should  meet  with  their 
lordly  relative,  saying,  "he'll  be  so  glad  to  see  us,  and  may 
be  he  '11  want  you  both  to  stay  with  him." 

"/  don't  want  to  stay  with  him  !"  said  Toney,  quickly,  at 

the  same  time  pouting  his  handsome  lip. 

5* 


106  THE     RAG-PICKKR. 

"Me,  too,"  added  Carrie,  clinging  to  her  brother's  arm. 
"/  don't  want  to  stay,  too." 

"  I  worit  stop  there,"  insisted  Toney. 

"An'  I,  too,"  added  Carrie. 

"  You  '11  be  good  children,  won't  you  ?"  asked  Dolly. 

"  Yes,  yes — I  will,"  replied  Toney. 

"  Me,  too,"  followed  Carrie,  instantly. 

"  That 's  right.  You  remember  what  Mr.  Goodson  told 
you,  don't  you  ?  How  he  would  love  you,  if  you  're  good 
children,  how  God  would  love  you,  and  how  every  body  would 
lovo  you,  if  you  behaved  well — eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  little  ones,  together. 

"  Very  well,  then ;  I  am  now  going  to  take  you  over  to  see 
your  grandpa,  who  is  so  rich,  and  who  will,  perhaps,  be  kind 
and  benevolent  toward  you,  and  take  care  of  you  hereafter,  if 
you  are  very  good.  And  I  want  you  to  be  careful  and  be 
orderly  when  you  meet  him,  in  order  that  he  may  see  how 
prettily  behaved  you  are ;  and  then  he  will  be  sure  to  take  a 
liking  to  you  both  directly.  Do  you  understand,  Toney  2" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  was  Toney's  answer. 

"An'  me,  too,"  added  Carrie,  as  usual. 

But  ne'ither  Toney  nor  Carrie  Ellson  were  pleased  with 
the  prospect  before  them.  They  entertained  a  very  indiffer 
ent  idea  of  Dolly's  plans,  any  way.  As  to  the  washing,  and 
the  "  bran  new  clothes"  they  stood  in,  and  the  going  out  into 
the  busy  streets  for  a  time,  where  all  was  sunshine  and  happy 
faces ;  where  they  could  see  the  pretty  toys  in  the  shop- win 
dows,  the  horses,  and  wagons,  and  sledges  for  boys,  and  the 
dolls,  and  little  cradles,  and  nice  books  for  girls,  which  they 
could  look  at,  though  they  could  not  possess — all  this  was 


THE     UNWELCOME     VISITORS.  107 

well  enough.  And  they  did  uot  object  to  call  upon  their 
"  gran'pa,"  of  whom  they  had  indeed  heard  very  little,  and  for 
whom  (in  their  childishness)  they  cared  much  less ;  but,  as  to 
staying  there,  they  had  an  opinion  of  their  own.  They  de 
sired  that  Dolly  should  bring  them  home  again,  after  their 
visit ;  they  had  no  idea  of  tarrying  there. 

Home!  How  little  could  they  realize  that  they  were 
houseless,  homeless,  friendless ! 

They  sallied  forth,  at  length,  from  the  miserable  quarters 
where  they  had  been  lodged  and  scantily  fed  during  the  few 
past  weeks,  and  Dolly  led  the  way,  as  proud  as  a  queen, 
while  she  held  the  tiny  hand  of  Carrie  Ellson  in  her  own,  and 
chattered  with  her  as  she  moved  along.  The  children  were 
very  fair  indeed,  and  the  bright  black  eyes  of  Carrie  were 
more  than  once  the  object  of  remark. 

At  length  they  reached  the  handsome  dwelling  of  their 
affluent  grandfather.  Dolly  halted  a  moment,  mounted  the 
marble  steps  with  the  little  ones,  read  the  name  upon  the 
great  silver  plate,  and  said — 

"Here  we  are,  Toney." 

"  Where  ?"  asked  the  boy,  briskly. 

"  At  gran'pa's ;  don't  you  recollect  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Toiiey,  lowering  his  voice  at  once. 

"Me,  too,"  whispered  Carrie,  sidling  up  and  taking  her 
brother's  hand. 

And  a  servant  quickly  appeared  at  the  great  mahogany 
door-way,  in  response  to  the  ringing  of  Brittan's  bell  by  the 
humble  Dolly  Curtain. 

"  Is  Mr.  Brittan  at  home  ?"  inquired  Dolly,  respectfully,  of 
the  attendant. 


108  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  servant.  And  then  glancing  at  the  woman 
and  two  children  suspiciously,  he  added,  "  I  don't  know.  I  '11 
see." 

He  did  not  shut  the  door  entirely,  and  Dolly  stepped  into 
the  entry,  drawing  the  two  children  after  her.  The  servant 
disappeared,  but  turned  back  again  directly,  and  said,  "  Card, 
mum  ?" 

"  Say  Miss  Curtain,"  responded  Dolly,  quickly. 

Anthony  Brittan  had  n't  dined  that  day.  It  is  averred  that 
most  people  (who  are  able  to  eat  dinners  at  all)  are  better  his- 
posed  after  dining ;  and,  as  a  rule,  one  may  look  for  more 
cordial  treatment  from  a  "crusty"  man,  who  is  encountered 
upon  a  full  stomach,  than  at  a  period  when  he  may  have  been 
fasting.  If  this  change  ever  exhibited  itself  in  old  Brittan's 
case,  those  who  surrounded  him  never  chanced  to  know  it. 
And,  when  the  servant  entered  the  room  where  he  was  lazily 
reclining,  and  said,  "A  lady,  sir,"  the  crabbed  Englishman 
j'.nswered — 

"  What  of  her  2" 

"  A  lady,  at  the  door,  sir." 

"  Name  ?"  queried  Brittan. 

"  Miss  Curtain,  sir." 

"  Curtain — Curtain  ?  Never  heard  it.  Show  her  up. 
What  does  she  want  ?" 

Dolly  entered  the  drawing-room  at  the  servant's  return, 
mid  Anthony  Brittan  presented  himself  a  moment  afterward. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Brittan  ?"  said  Dolly. 

"  Your  servant,  mum." 

"  I  called,  sir,  to — to  confer  with  you  in  regard  to  an  ob 
ject  of  charity,  in  which  you  are  undoubtedly  interested,"  be- 


THE     UNWELCOME     VISITORS.  109 

gan  Dolly,  modestly.  "Your  knoAvn  liberality,  and  the 
peculiar  circumstances  of  this  case — " 

"  I — I  haven't  time,  mum,"  interrupted  Brittan,  instantly. 
"  No  time,  now,  mum,  to  look  into  this.  John  !"  he  exclaimed, 
calling  his  menial. 

"  But  this  case,  Mr.  Brittan,"  continued  Dolly,  earnestly, 
"  is  one  that  you  can't  reasonably  pass  over.  It  has  been  left 
to  the  last  moment — " 

"  I  don't  know  no  particular  cases,  mum  ;  none  whatever. 
John !" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Attend  this  woman." 

"  My  business  is  with  you,  Mr.  Brittan,"  continued  Dolly, 
boldly,  and  closely  following  his  footsteps  as  the  Englishman 
moved  to  leave  the  room.  "  I  've  come  here  on  an  errand  of 
mercy,  in  which  I  've  no  manner  o'  personal  interest,  and  I 
will  tell  you  what  I  have  to  say,  at  all  hazards." 

Brittan  halted  in  his  tracks,  for  he  had  never  before  seen 
such  an  exhibition,  and  he  was  thunder-struck  at  the  woman's 
temerity.  More  than  this,  he  began  to  suspect  what  lay  at 
the  bottom  of  this  visit.  He  looked  hastily  at  Dolly,  then  at 
the  children,  and  the  woman  thus  continued  : 

"  For  myself,  sir,  I  desire  nothing,  and  I  ask  no  favors  of 
you  for  any  kin  of  mine.  These  two  little  ones  have  neither 
father  nor  mother  to  care  for  them.  They  are,  to-day,  parent- 
less  and  homeless,  and  the  blood  of  Anthony  Brittan  runs  in 
their  veins  !  God  has  sent  me  here,  sir,  to  you,  the  father  of 
Annie  Ellson,  to  demand  of  you  what  you  have  denied  to  the 
suffering,  repentant,  cruelly-treated  mother.  These  are  her 


110  THKKAG--PICKER. 

children,  sir !  They  are  starving  for  lack  of  bread !  Tho 
mother  of  these  little  ones  is  your  child — " 

"  Take  her  away  !"  shouted  Brittan,  madly.  "  John  !  Mi 
chael — take  her  off !  Put  her  out  of  the  house  !"  And  at 
the  word,  two  boy-servants  entered  the  apartment,  designing 
to  execute  their  master's  bidding  ;  but  they  encountered  the 
frightfully  excited  gaze  of  a  tall  and  brawny-armed  woman, 
who  turned  upon  them  as  they  came  in,  and  cried  out : 

"  Stop  !  you  puny  fools !  or  if  you  dare  raise  a  hand  against 
me,  do  it,  at  your  peril !" 

The  children,  thoroughly  alarmed,  clung  to  Dolly's  dress, 
amid  the  confusion,  while  Toney  shouted  at  the  top  of  his 
lungs — "  Take  me  home,  Dolly  !  take  me  home ! — don't  leave 
us  !  I  don't  want  to  see  gran'pa — I  don't !"  and  Carrie  fol 
lowed,  screaming — "  Me,  too  !  me,  too  !  me,  too  !" 

"  I  won't  hear  it — I  won't  listen  !"  yelled  Brittan,  forcing 
his  fingers  into  his  ears.  "  She  's  dead.  I  haven't  got  any 
child  !  Dead,  I  say  !  Leave  me — leave  the  house  !  Take 
your  brats  away  !  Go  to  work — support  'em.  Let  her  starve 
— let  them  starve  !  I  'm  glad  of  it.  Glad,  glad,  glad  !  They 
shan't  have  one  penny — not  one.  I  'm  Anthony  Brittan.  I  'vo 
made  my  will — not  one  cent  to  the  race  !  Out,  I  say,  you 
devil's  witch,  and  take  your  imps  along  with  you.  Not  a 
copper — not  one  !"  And  with  this  paroxysm,  Anthony  Brit 
tan  fairly  leaped  out  of  the  room,  and  disappeared  entirely. 

Dolly  fell  upon  her  knees  in  the  middle  of  Brittan's  splen 
didly  appointed  apartment,  and  cried  aloud  to  the  God  of  the 
fatherless  to  protect  and  succor  the  tender  and  innocent  chil 
dren  beside  her,  Avhile  she  fervently  prayed  that  the  guilty  and 
reckless  parent  of  the  wretched  mother  of  those  babes  might 


THE     UNWELCOME     VISITORS.  Ill 

live  to  repent  in  sack  cloth,  before  the  righteous  Ruler  and 
Giver  of  all  good  ! 

Her  mission  was  fruitless ;  and,  with  a  heavy  heart  and 
brimming  eyes,  she  took  the  extended  hands  of  the  two  chil 
dren,  and  found  her  way,  unattended,  to  the  open  street ! 

As  they  left  the  marble  steps  of  the  aristocratic  abode  of 
their  rich  relation,  the  figure  of  an  old  man  was  seen  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  way,  groping  along  the  edge  of  the  walk, 
anxiously  searching  for  something,  evidently,  so  earnest  was 
his  manner. 

He  did  not  observe  the  children,  so  intent  was  he  upon  the 
business  that  engaged  him  at  the  moment.  Carrie  watched 
him,  however,  until  she  turned  the  corner  of  the  street  below, 
but  he  did  not  recognize  her. 

It  was  old  Davy,  the  rag-picker. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE     ARREST. 

*  *       *      All  men  are  created  EQTTAL  ;  they  are  endowed  by  their  CREATOR 
with  certain  -unalienable  rights ;  among  these,  are  life,  LIBERTY,  and  the  pursuit  of 
happiness. — DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

*  *       *       No  person  held  to  service  or  labor  in  one  State,  escaping  into 
another,  shall,  in  consequence  of  any  law  therein,  be  discharged  from  such  service 
or  labor;  but  shall  be  delivered  up,  on  claim  of  the  party  to  whom  such  service  or 
labor  may  belong. — CONSTITUTION  or  TUB  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA. 

The  free  born  Englishman  rang  for  his  dressing-gown  and 
slippers.  The  "  generous  Madeira"  he  had  quaffed  had  ren 
dered  him  soggy,  at  least ;  and  he  concluded  to  sit  awhile 
over  his  comfortable  parlor  fire,  and  think  upon  his  future 
plans,  now  well  determined  on,  before  the  hour  for  retiring. 

"  Nappo  was  right,"  said  Brittan  to  himself :  "  Taskem  is 
a  gentleman.  He  knows  what 's  what,  does  Taskem  !  I  'd 
trust  him,  any  where — 'ic — wi'  untold  gold  ;  'cause  he 's  so 
well  posted,  and  so — 'ic — s'rewd.  He  's  a  devilish  nice  fel 
low,  is  Taskem ;  and  I  'm  in  luck — 'ic — to  meet  him  so 
extron'ally." 

Brittan  hiccoughed  fearfully  after  the  utterance  of  this  last 
word,  which  he  intended  for  extraordinarily  !  But  then,  it 
must  be  remembered,  that  he  had  just  disposed  of  something 
over  two  bottles  of  heavy  Madeira. 


THE     ARREST.  113 

"  Tennessee,"  continued  Brittan,  slowly,  as  visions  of  broad 
plantations,  fertile  cotton-fields,  and  scores  of  negroes,  flitted 
before  his  excited  mind ;  "  Tennessee  must  be  a  beau-ti-ful 
place.  No  humbug  in  that.  Taskem  said  so — 'ic — and  he 
knows,  'cause  he 's  bin  there.  Go  to  Tennessee — Nappo 
there  a'  ready — buy  him — plenty  o'  niggers — knock  'em  down 
w'eu  you  like — no  law  there — 'ic — beautiful,  pleasant,  delight 
ful — 'ic  !  Go  to  Tennessee,"  said  Brittan,  "/  will."  And  a 
moment  afterward  he  was  sleeping  heavily  in  his  arm-chair. 

The  night  passed  away,  and  morning  came ;  the  morning 
upon  which  Taskem  had  arranged  to  exercise  his  rights  as  a 
"  freeman"  over  another  "  freeman,"  whose  skin  chanced  to  be 
a  shade  darker,  but  who  possessed  no  rights  that  were  not 
controlled  by  his  legal  master  ! 

"  God  made  man  in  his  own  image."  The  Magna  Charta 
of  this  land  declares  that  "ALL  men  are  born  equal."  But 
what  of  that  ?  Nappo's  mother  had  "  owed  service,"  and  the 
law  also  declares  that  her  progeny  is  "  property."  Ergo,  as 
Nappo  had  been  found,  he  must  go  back  to  that  service  from 
which  he  had  fled,  for  he  was  n't  "  born  equal."  He  knew 
nothing  of  the  fate  that  was  impending,  and  he  was  surprised, 
in  Brittan's  house — under  the  roof  of  an  English  freeman. 

About  nine  o'clock  that  morning,  Brittan  sent  for  his  ser 
vant,  who  had  ever  been  faithful  and  true  to  him  from  the  first 
hour  he  entered  his  employment.  He  was  only  fourteen 
years  old  when  his  present  master  engaged  him ;  and  as  he 
had  no  incentive  to  expose  himself,  Nappo  took  care  never  to 
mention  any  thing  regarding  his  early  history  after  his  arrival 
in  Boston.  So  the  Englishman  had  no  idea  that  he  was  a 
fugitive.  Brittan's  heart  had  long  since  been  steeled  to  any 


114  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

thing  that  approached  "  sympathy  for  other's  woes,"  and  he 
cared  very  little  about  the  fate  of  Nappo,  or  any  body  else, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  saving  himself. 

"  Well,  Nappo,"  said  Brittan,  gayly,  as  the  negro  came  into 
his  apartment,  "you've  been  with  me  now  a  good  many 
years." 

"Yis,  sail." 

"  How  many,  Nappo  ?" 

"  Over  tirteen  years,  sah." 

"  Thirteen  years  !     So  long  as  that  ?" 

«  Yis,  sah." 

"And  where  did  you  come  from  when  you  came  here, 
Nappo  ?"  continued  Brittan,  with  an  attempt  at  being  conver 
sational. 

"  From  York  State,  sah." 

"  That  was  your  story,  I  know.  But  previous  to  that  time, 
Nappo,  where  did  you  live  ?" 

The  poor  fellow  was  puzzled  at  Brittan's  manner,  but  dared 
not  answer  this  query  directly.  Something  seemed  to  whis 
per  in  the  Afri  can's  ear — for  his  mother  was  a  genuine 
African,  notwithstanding  Taskem's  statement  to  Brittan — and 
he  faltered,  stammered,  flinched,  and  said  "  he  did  n't  know, 
sah." 

"  At  your  old  tricks,  eh  ?"  said  Brittan.  "  Very  well ; 
you  '11  be  brought  over  to  learn  to  tell  the  truth,  I  Ve  no 
doubt,  shortly.  Do  you  know  a  Mr.  Taskem,  Nappo  ?" 

"No,  sah,"  said  Nappo,  instantly.  And  he  did  not  know 
him. 

"  You  '11  have  a  chance  to  get  acquainted  with  him  then, 
soon,"  concluded  Brittan,  bitterly. 


THE     ARREST.  115 

At  this  moment  the  red-haired  man  entered  the  room, 
flanked  by  the  United  States  District  Marshal,  and  followed 
by  two  or  three  ruffian- visaged  deputies. 

"  That 's  /«'?»,"  said  Taskem,  at  once,  "  That 's  Napoleon 
Duroc.  I  claim  him  as  my  lawful  property.  Yere  's  the  bill 
o'  sale  from  his  'riginal  owner,  John  Schaffer,  of  Kintucky, 
from  whose  plantation  he  'scaped,  seventeen  year  ago,  with 
his  mother,  who  robbed  her  mistress  of  some  valuable  jewelry 
at  the  time,  an'  which  he  now  has  in  his  possession,  some 
where,  probably,  for  he  would  n't  dare  offer  it  for  sale,  yer 
see,  gentlemen." 

Had  a  thunderbolt  from  heaven  burst  at  poor  Nappo's  feet, 
at  that  instant,  he  could  not  have  been  more  thoroughly  as 
tounded  than  he  was.  Not  the  slightest  hint  had  he  had  of 
the  trap  set  for  him.  Not  the  remotest  idea  did  he  entertain 
of  the  danger  with  which  he  had  been  surrounded  for  the 
past  four  and  twenty  hours. 

He  looked  at  Taskem,  then  at  the  officers,  then  at  his  en>- 
ployer,  but  he  was  speechless.  The  tears  rushed  to  his  eyes 
at  length,  and  turning  imploringly  to  Brittan,  he  gasped — 

"  Massa  Brittau,  save  poor  Nappo  !" 

"  That 's  all  very  well,"  interposed  the  slave-hunter.  "  We  Ve 
seen  this  kind  o'  repentance  afore,  mind  you,  but  it 's  too  late, 
you  see.  Ef  he  comes  along  civily,  gentlemen,  all 's  right ; 
ef  not,  you  knows  the  law,  an'  so  do  /,"  said  Taskem.  "  Mr. 
Brittan,  one  word  with  you,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the 
inner  door,  and  taking  the  English  freeman  familiarly  by  the 
button-hole. 

They  were  absent  a  few  moments,  when  the  guilty  twain 
returned  again  to  the  drawing-room,  Taskem  leading  the 


116  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

triumphantly,  and  dangling  at  his  finger's  ends  a  set  of  an 
tique  and  curiously-mounted  earrings. 

"  Look  yer,  Nappo,"  he  shouted,  as  he  came  in,  "  did  yer 
ever  seen  these  things  afore,  eh  ?" 

Nappo  turned,  and  said,  "  Nebber — 'fore  God !  nebber  in 
my  life !" 

"Wotf  Yer  don't  steal,  an'  run  off,  an'  lie  as  well,  do  yer?" 
exclaimed  Taskem,  indignantly.  "  Gen'lemen,"  he  continued, 
addressing  the  officers,  "I  could  swear  to  this  jewelry  in 
Guinea.  I  found  it  in  the  bottom  of  his  trunk,  yere,  this  mo 
ment,  in  this  old  bag." 

"  De  bag 's  mine,"  shouted  Nappo,  "  but  dem  gold  things  I 
nebber  seen  afore,  gemplemen.  I  did  n't — I  nebber  did — I 
sware  de  facks — dam  if  I  did !  Massa  knows  I  did  n't.  Don't 
you,  Massa  Brittan  2" 

Brittan  made  no  reply. 

"  We  must  do  our  duty,  Mr.  Brittan,"  suggested  the  Mar 
shal.  "  It 's  an  uncomfortable  performance,  but  the  law,  you 
know,  sir,  is  imperative.  This  gentleman  has  acted  legally, 
the  fugitive  is  in  our  custody,  and  we  must  proceed." 

"  Wot  you  gwine  to  do  wid  me  ?  Whar'  you  gwine, 
massa  ?"  screamed  ISTappo,  in  his  fright  and  agony.  "  Massa 
Britt'n !  hab  n't  I  sarbed  you  honest  and  true  ?  You  don't 
b'lieb  me  a  tief — you  don't  b'lieb  dis  man  ?  Speak  up.  massa ! 
for  de  Lord's  sake,  don't  let  'em  carry  me  'way.  Don't  do  dat, 
gemplemen — I  'm  innocent !  'Fore  God,  I  am  !  Save  me, 
Massa  Britt'n — save  me — save  !"  shrieked  the  poor  fellow,  as 
the  officers  seized  him  at  last,  and  forced  him  to  the  door,  and 
thence  toward  an  open  carriage  that  stood  in  readiness  before 
the  Englishman's  lordly  portal. 


THE     ARREST.  117 

"  War  'm  I  gwine  to  ?  God  ha'  massy  on  poor  Nappo  !" 
screamed  the  unlucky  negro,  as  the  officers  rudely  forced  him 
from  the  door  of  his  old  employer.  Then,  turning  for  an 
instant  toward  the  house,  with  a  despairing'  shout  he  con 
tinued  : 

"  Massa  Britt'n  !  don't  let  'em — don't  let  'em  !  In  de  Lord's 
name,  massa,  save  poor  Nappo  dis  once,  an'  he  nebber  forget 
it  long 's  he  libs,  nebber  !" 

"  In  with  him — in  with  him  !"  muttered  the  marshall, 
hastily.  "  We  shall  have  a  crowd  here  in  one  minute  that  we 
can't  manage.  In  with  him  !" 

"  Massa !  don't  break  Nappo's  heart — " 

"  I  '11  break  your  head,  ef  you  don't  shet  up,"  exclaimed  one 
of  the  deputies,  rudely.  "  Stop  your  bellowing,  and  in  with 
you,  now." 

And,  as  half  a  dozen  curiously-disposed  persons  came  up, 
the  prisoner  had  been  secured,  and  the  carriage  rolled  away 
in  hot  haste  toward  the  Court-house,  where  the  slave-hunter 
and  his  friends  had  already  arrived,  and  awaited  the  fugitive's 
coming. 

Away  with  him  !  He 's  black ;  he  can't  tell  who  his  father 
was,  or  whether  he  ever  had  any.  Very  likely  he  did  n't. 
He 's  property — "  goods  and  chattels  ;"  and  the  probabilities 
are  that  he 's  a  thief  as  well  as  a  nigger ! 

There  will  be  "  no  trouble"  to  convict  him — as  Taskem  as 
sured  Brittan.  No !  Leave  that  to  him.  He  could  swear  to 
the  stolen  property  "  in  Guinea,"  (or  in  Boston,  either !)  He 
had  bought  the  boy,  who  had  fled  from  tyranny  and  oppres 
sion  and  the  lash,  and  who  must  be  returned  to  that  delecta 
ble  service  again ;  for,  thus  said  the  LAW  ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


A     LEGAL     FARCE. 


In  times  like  these,  men  know  not  one  another. 
Holding  together  —  they  together  fall! 
In  scattering  there  's  chance  of  safety. 

*    *    *    Do  not  hold  me,  friend  ! 
Look  to  thyself.    lie's  lost  that  looks! 
Upon  a  brother's  jeopardy. 


BUT  Nappo  was  not  to  be  borne  away  without  a  hearing! 
Oh,  no  !  That  would  be  unrighteous,  and  illegal,  too.  lie 
was  to  have  a  chance  for  his  life  —  for  the  law  and  the  Consti 
tution  gave  him  this  —  but  what  a  chance  ! 

God  of  mercy  and  goodness  —  God  of  the  just  and  unjust  ! 
When  shall  this  iniquity  be  banished  from  the  nation  ? 

"  What  's  he  bin  a'  doin'  ?"  inquired  a  lame  wood-sawyer,  as 
the  vehicle  rolled  up  to  the  Court-house  door. 

"  Stealin'  old  Brittan's  silver,"  replied  somebody  on  the 
walk,  Avho  had  been  thus  informed. 

"  Pity  he  had  n't  got  some  of  his  gold,"  suggested  another, 
"  and  gi'n  it  to  his  starvin'  daughter." 

At  this  moment  two  or  three  colored  people  came  running 
up  to  the  door  of  Brittan's  house,  out  of  breath,  and  preceded 
by  an  acquaintance  of  Nappo,  who  had  got  sight  of  him  as  he 
was  being  borne  away. 


A     LEGAL    FAKCE.  119 

"  War  is  he  ?"  asked  the  foremost  of  the  sable  trio. 

"  Who  ?"  said  a  bystander. 

"  Nappo — Nappo.     Do  collud  man  dey  had  'ere  jes  now." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  other,  slowly,  "  I  donno." 

But  the  friends  of  Nappo  suspected  what  was  transpiring, 
and  they  hurried  away  direct  to  the  Court-house. 

"  A  very  clever  fellow,  that  Taskem,"  said  Brittan  to  him 
self,  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  parlor,  after  the  departure  of  Nappo 
and  the  officers.  "  A  marvel  ously  clever  fellow,  'pon  my 
word !  Well  done !  Admirably  done !  But  the  charge  of 
stealing  the  jewelry  was  hardly  the  thing,  so  far  as  Nappo  's 
concerned,  for  he 's  as  honest  as  the  sun.  However,  he 's  a 
poor  ignorant  nigger,  any  how,  and  a  runaway  slave — so 
Taskern  says — and  he  knows.  Taskern  's  a  trump  !" 

And  then  the  free-born  Englishman  chuckled  within  him 
self,  right  merrily,  as  he  reflected  further  upon  the  disgraceful 
scene  that  had  just  been  consummated  beneath  his  own  roof, 
in  broad  day-light — the  unrighteous  arrest  of  a  human  being, 
who  was  guilty  of  no  earthly  crime  whatever,  except  that,  un 
luckily,  he  first  saw  the  light  south  of  the  Potomac ;  and,  con 
sequently  (notwithstanding  the  letter  of  the  Declaration),  Avas 
not  "  born  EQUAL  !" 

Away  with  him,  then  !  He  knows  nothing,  can  feel  noth 
ing.  His  head  is  but  a  cocoa-nut  shell,  his  hide  is  fit  only 
for  the  scourge  or  the  tan-pit,  and  his  heart — "Heart"  con 
tinued  Brittan,  halting  suddenly  in  his  reverie,  as  he  recalled 
the  last  words  that  had  dropped  from  Nappo's  lips,  in  his  hear 
ing — "  heart !  Have  these  fellows  got  hearts  ?  The  boy  said, 
'  don't  break  Nappo's  heart."1  Ah !  I  see — he  got  that  from 
going  to  meeting.  I  allowed  him  to  '  go  to  meeting,'  as  he 


120  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

termed  it,  and  he 's  got  the  idea  into  him  that  he 's  got  a 
heart!  Well,  Taskem '11  eradicate  all  that  kind  of  stupid 
notion,  I've  no  doubt.  Taskem  is  a  very  clever  sort  of  man 
or  I  'in  no  judge  of  humanity. 

"  Let  us  see,"  continued  Brittan,  stretching  his  feet  out  be 
fore  the  grateful  fire,  and  turning  over  in  his  mind  the  pros 
pects  of  his  late  servant ;  "  let  us  see.  Nappo  's  young 
yet,  hale  and  hearty,  good  size,  not  bad  looking,  honest  and 
ingenious.  Taskern  bought  him  at  a  venture,  he  says,  and 
paid  Schaffer  two  hundred  dollars  for  him,  with  the  under 
standing  that  he  should  get  possession  of  him  the  best  way 
he  could.  He 's  got  him — he  '11  prove  his  claim — the  boy  '11 
go  into  bondage,  and  Taskem  clears  a  cool  thousand,  to  a 
certainty,  by  the  speculation ;  for  he  avers  that,  once  out 
of  reach  of  his  friends  here,  Nappe's  worth  twelve  hundred 
dollars,  quick.  A  remarkably  clever  fellow,  that  Taskem, 
to  be  sure !"  continued  Brittan,  rising ;  and  then  pacing 
the  floor  for  half  an  hour,  in  deep  thought,  he  turned  over  and 
over  the  schemes  and  prospects  which  the  slave-hunter  had 
shrewdly  presented  to  his  view,  to  induce  him  to  accompany 
him  home,  and  invest  his  capital  in  southern  lands,  and  other 
"property." 

The  gilded  bait  had  proved  successful ;  and  old  Brittan 
firmly  resolved  to  settle  at  the  South.  lie  would  thus  rid 
himself  effectually,  he  believed,  of  the  importunities  that  had 
so  annoyed  him  in  his  family  relations.  The  glowing  ac 
counts  of  the  freedom  and  continuous  enjoyments  of  a 
planter's  life  so  completely  captivated  him,  that  he  informed 
Taskem  of  his  resolution  without  further  delay. 

Taskem  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  this  sudden  decision  on 


A     LEGAL     FARCE.  121 

the  part  of  Brittari,  but  he  took  care  to  disguise  his  astonish 
ment,  while  he  made  good  use  of  every  argument  within  his 
limited  knowledge  of  such  an  undertaking  (by  such  a  person), 
to  encourage  the  Englishman  in  his  newly-conceived  project. 
lie  saw  that  he  should  himself  be  enabled  to  realize  something 
from  the  enterprise,  without  any  doubt,  and  he  was  secretly 
rejoiced  when  Brittan  announced  to  him  his  final  deter 
mination. 

Meanwhile,  poor  Nappo  lay  in  prison,  awaiting  the  order 
of  the  Court  for  his  final  delivery  into  the  hands  of  his  cap- 
turer  and  new  owner.  There  had  been  exhibited  unmistaka 
ble  evidences  of  serious  excitement,  in  and  around  the  Court 
house,  during  the  examination  of  Nappo,  who  was  at  length 
openly  charged  with  and  convicted  of  being  a  fugitive  from 
service.  Little  knots  of  colored  men  had  been  seen  at  the 
corners  of  the  streets  leading  to  the  jail,  while  similar  col 
lections  of  well  dressed  persons  of  this  class  congregated  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  Court.  They  were  quiet,  however,  and 
civil ;  but  they  spoke  in  a  subdued  tone  of  voice,  and  no  one 
knew  what  were  their  intentions,  or  the  objects  of  their  evi 
dently  earnest  zeal  (for  some  purpose  or  other),  at  that  pre 
cise  time. 

However,  might  was  BIGHT  in  those  days  !  All  men  were 
not  "born  equal,"  and  Nappo  Duroc  chanced  to  be  one  of 
that  unfortunate  class  whose  pedigree  was  defective  in  the  eye 

of  a  very  questionable  statute. 

6 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

TONEY     AND     CAKRIE. 

REJOICED  at  their  escape  from  the  gilded  drawing-room 
of  their  "  gran'pa,"  as  Dolly  had  called  old  Brittan,  the  two 
children  hurried  away  from  the  door  with  their  kind  friend, 
who  was,  herself,  not  much  less  gratified  than  they  at  leaving 
the  incorrigible  monster  behind.  As  they  passed  down  the 
crowded  streets,  the  little  ones  soon  forgot  the  man,  and 
the  rude  scene  of  which  they  had  just  been  the  unwilling- 
witnesses. 

Carrie  chirped  as  she  ran  merrily  along  behind  her  little 
brother,  after  getting  out  of  sight  of  Davy,  and  they  halted 
from  time  to  time  to  peep  in  at  the  showily-dressed  shop 
windows,  garnished  as  they  were  with  attractive  toys  and  play 
things. 

"  See  the  pony — see  the  pony,  Carrie !"  shouted  Toney, 
pointing  to  a  miniature  rocking-horse  he  had  suddenly  dis 
covered. 

"  And  the  dolly,  too  !  see — in  the  corner  !"  responded  Car 
rie,  turning  the  boy's  attention  to  an  object  that  pleased  her 
the  most. 

Dolly  was  silent  and  meditative.     She  was  returning  again 


THE    GOLDSMITH'S    CHARITY.  143 

"  What  did  papa  do  ?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Toney. 

"  He  beat  us,"  said  Carrie. 

"  Not  much,"  insisted  Toney. 

"Ifard — hard 's  he  could,"  continued  poor  little  Carrie,  who 
had  experienced  her  unfortunate  father's  rudeness  more  than 
once,  and  who  did  not  forget  it. 

But  Mrs.  Meeker  had  no  wish  to  pry  into  the  "family 
secrets"  of  the  two  little  strangers,  and  so  she  changed  the 
subject,  and  proposed  they  should  retire,  first  repeating  the 
Lord's  prayer.  This  having  been  done,  Toney  informed  their 
benefactor  that  Came  Avould  sing  her  hymn,  if  they  would 
like  to  hear  her ;  and  the  little  songster,  in  a  beautiful  melody, 
delivered  herself  of  the  following  pretty  sentiments,  which  she 
had  learned  from  her  mother's  lips : 

CARRIED  EVENING-  HYMN. 
When  the  glittering  stars  peep  out 

From  the  dark  and  silent  sky, 
Twinkling  through  the  azure  sphere 
G-OD  has  placed  them  in,  on  high — 
Then,  with  folded  hands,  at  even, 
Then  with  grateful  hearts,  we  '11  bow  I 
Praying  HIJI  who  dwells  in  heaven 
To  accept  our  humble  vow  I 

HE  will  listen !  HE  will  bless ! 

For,  within  his  word  't  is  found — 
Not  without  the  FATHER'S  knowledge 
Falls  the  sparrow  to  the  ground. 
Little  children,  then,  at  even, 
"Well  may  come  and  lowly  bow ! 
For  the  FATHER  dwells  in  heaven, 
And  accepts  their  humble  vow  1 

"  A  charming  evening  song,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Meeker,  at  its 


144  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

conclusion,  "  and  right  prettily  sung,  too.  Now,  a  kiss,  and 
then  to  bed,  for  it  is  late,  and  you  need  rest,"  added  Mrs. 
Meeker,  kindly. 

And  five  minutes  afterward,  the  poor  fugitives,  fast  locked 
in  each  other's  arms,  were  sleeping  soundly  and  peacefully — 
for  they  were  very  much  fatigued. 

Charles  Meeker,  as  we  have  hinted,  was  an  artisan — a  gold 
smith — by  profession.  lie  labored  daily  for  his  bread ;  but 
he  was  a  little  "  forehanded,"  for  his  business  Avas  a  profitable 
one.  He  could  afford  to  lend  an  ear  to  the  wail  of  distress ; 
and  he  found  that  a  good  act  ahvays  brought  with  its  accom 
plishment  a  sure  reward.  lie  had  struggled  with  poverty 
himself,  and  he  knew  how  hard  it  was  to  bear  up  under  ad 
versity. 

But  now  he  was  pleasantly  situated  in  life,  the  labor  of  his 
hands  was  remunerated  handsomely,  and  he  managed  to  live 
comfortably,  respectably,  and  to  do  some  measure  of  good. 

His  wife  was  a  pattern  of  neatness  and  thrift — a  real  help 
meet  to  him — a  woman  of  most  excellent  domestic  qualities, 
and  one  "  who  went  about  doing  good,"  likewise.  The  poor 
and  destitute  around  her  were  aided  to  the  fullest  extent  of 
her  means,  and  the  needy  wayfarer  who  chanced  within  her 
province  never  went  away  empty. 

Both  Meeker  and  his  wife  were  zealous  and  worthy  mem 
bers  of  the  Christian  Church,  and  their  lives  were  passed 
amid  the  pleasing  routine  of  religious  duty  to  their  God,  their 
fellows,  and  themselves. 

They  had  but  one  child — a  bright  little  fellow,  five  years 
old.  Charles  Meeker  was  being  carefully  and  faithfully  edu 
cated  by  his  parents,  who  loved  him  dearly,  and  who  watched 


THE    QOLDSMITH'S    CHARITY.  14.5 

his  constantly-improving  character  with  high  hopes  for  the 
future. 

The  evening  waned.  Mr.  Meeker  read  a  portion  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  and  then  offered  to  the  Throne  of  Grace  his 
customary  evening  prayer,  in  which  he  was  ardently  joined  by 
his  loving  and  pure-hearted  wife.  And  when  the  Avorthy  man 
had  thanked  his  Heavenly  Father  that  he  had  been  made 
the  humble  instrument,  in  his  hands,  of  bringing  aid  and  com 
fort  to  the  two  tender  sufferers  Avho  had  found  shelter  that 
night  beneath  his  roof,  he  realized  a  calm  and  peaceful  satis 
faction — 

"  That  only  they  who  feel  can  know." 

In  the  mean  time,  poor  Dolly  Curtain  went  to  her  weary 
and  lonely  pillow,  but  not  to  sleep  !  She  had  left  no  stone  un 
turned,  within  the  scope  of  her  knowledge,  to  find  the  lost 
children.  She  had  traversed  all  the  streets  through  which 
they  had  passed  from  her  own  humble  home  to  Brittan's 
house,  and  back  again,  but  she  could  hear  nothing  of 
them. 

She  resorted  to  the  office  of  the  city-crier,  but  his  efforts 
were  fruitless.  And  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  satisfied 
that  somebody  must  have  found  and  housed  the  lost  ones,  she 
threw  herself  upon  her  pallet  to  await  the  light  of  morning 
to  renew  her  search. 

And  while  the  anxious  and  well-meaning  Dolly  was  thus 
harassing  and  fretting  for  their  uncertain  fate,  little  Toney  and 
Carrie  Ellson  were  snugly  lodged,  and  were  dreaming  sweetly 
beneath  their  Christian  benefactor's  roof. 

7 


CHAPTEli    XXII. 

THE    RUSE    AND    THE    ESCAPE. 

I  tell  you,  hopeless  grief  is  passionless ; 
That  only  men  incredulous  of  despair — 
Half-taught  in  anguish — through  the  midnight  air 
Beat  upward  to  God's  throne  in  loud  access 
Of  shrieking  and  reproach ! 

ELIZABETH  B.  BBOWNIJTO. 

LONG  before  the  hour  fixed  upon  by  Taskem  for  his  final 
departure  from  Boston,  the  name  of  the  slave-hunter  was 
upon  the  lips  of  hundreds  of  the  residents  of  the  west  end  of 
the  town,  and  the  "  Guard  of  Vigilance"  that  had  been  hastily 
organized  among  the  colored  residents  was  augmented,  by 
very  considerable  numbers,  before  nightfall. 

While  this  body  of  men  were  in  secret  conclave,  in  a  re 
tired  house  in  Belknap  street,  a  gathering,  which,  for  the  safer 
carrying  out  of  the  interests  of  those  who  were  clandestinely 
engaged  in  its  objects,  was  denominated  a  prayer-meeting — 
there  stood  at  the  door  of  the  apartment  where  they  were 
assembled,  a  stout  negro,  who  scanned  the  faces  of  each  and 
every  one  who  came  and  went,  receiving  the  second  pass 
word  from  all  incomers,  as  did  another  sable  gentleman  the 
first  sign,  at  the  outside  entrance. 

One  after  another  of  the  "  friends"  entered,  and  each  in  his 


THE  RUSE  AND  THE  ESCAPE.        147 

turn  gave  the  countersign  and  pass  to  the  sturdy  ushers.  A 
single  lamp  burned  dimly  at  the  side  of  the  large,  low  room, 
but  a  careful  observer  could  readily  discover,  as  he  gazed  about 
the  apartment,  that  if  the  skins  of  the  assemblage  there  were 
darter  than  ordinary,  there  were  also  the  flashing  eye,  the 
firm  lip,  and  the  ardent  bearing  of  more  than  three  scores  of 
men,  whom  it  would  be  dangerous  to  oppose  in  a  hand-to-hand 
struggle.  EIGHT  was  upon  their  side,  and  they  did  not  lose 
sight  of  this  fact. 

A  gray-headed,  well-dressed  negro  presided,  and  he  offered 
an  earnest  prayer  to  Him  who  "  created  all  men  equal,"  crav 
ing  the  blessing  of  Almighty  God  upon  their  doings.  And 
then  a  hymn  succeeded,  in  which  the  throng  united,  as  with 
a  single  voice,  executing  a  peculiarly  melodious  and  touching 
chaunt,  appropriate  to  the  words  chosen,  and  unlike  any  thing 
else — Saul-stirring  and  beautiful  in  the  highest  degree. 

Just  as  the  song  was  concluded,  a  negro  came  up  to  the 
outer  door,  and,  like  the  rest  of  the  company,  placing  his 
mouth  to  the  key-hole,  he  whispered  "Duroc"  The  door  in 
stantly  opened,  and  he  passed  on.  When  challenged  by  the 
second  usher,  he  replied,  "Right  and  Justice  ;"  and  the  con 
ductor  inquired  of  him,  "  What 's  o'clock  ?n  to  which  he  an 
swered,  "Always  ready" 

\He  was  admitted  into  the  secret  circle  without  hesitation, 
having  given  the  pass-words  accurately,  and  ho  became  a 
quiet  and  an  attentive  listener  to  what  was  transpiring.  After 
a  little  delay,  he  contributed  his  own  mite,  humbly,  to  the  de 
bate,  and  informed  the  company  of  what  none  of  them  knew 
up  to  the  moment  of  his  announcing  the  intelligence,  to  wit — 
that  Nappo  would  be  taken  away  on  the  following  evening,  at 


148  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

sunset,  by  way  of  Eoxbury,  thciice  to  Providence  and  New 
York,  and  so  south  and  west,  by  land,  to  his  future  home  in 
Tennessee. 

A  hurried  and  excited  consultation  succeeded  this  an 
nouncement.  Plans  and  counter-plans  were  suggested  and 
overruled  and  changed,  while  the  stranger,  who  was  evidently 
a  fast  friend  to  this  "  committee,"  and  who  seemed  well  in 
formed  of  what  was  going  on,  contrived  to  impress  upon  the 
consideration  of  the  "brethren"  assembled  the  necessity  of 
their  concentrating  in  force  along  the  line  of  the  "Neck," 
where  the  carriage  that  contained  the  fugitive  would  inevitably 
pass,  and  from  which  he  proposed  they  should  rescue  Nappo 
at  the  moment  when  his  guard  would  probably  feel  secure  of 
their  prey,  and  would  not  be  prepared  for  the  contemplated 
attack. 

With  some  slight  modifications,  the  suggestions  of  "  Brother 
Brown"  were  at  length  agreed  upon,  and  the  company  broke 
up,  after  appointing  several  sub-committees  of  observation  for 
the  night  and  the  following  day. 

Not  the  slightest  suspicion  was  excited  toward  Mr.  Brown, 
who  comported  himself  respectfully  and  modestly,  and  who 
conversed  accurately  in  the  occasional  broken  negro  tongue, 
(for  he  had  dwelt  among  the  race  all  his  life),  and  he  retired 
with  the  rest,  after  joining  in  the  concluding  hymn  and  prayer, 
with  seemingly  zealous  devotion,  and  deep  outward  sympathy. 

Amid  the  excitement  and  the  darkness,  the  villain's  mask,  so 
cunningly  adjusted,  and  his  address,  so  admirably  carried  out, 
were  unobserved  and  unsuspected.  Yet  this  self-styled  Mr. 
Brown,  who  had,  by  some  extraordinary  means,  obtained  a 
knowledge  of  the  pass-words,  and  who  was  now  thoroughly 


THE  RUSE  AND  THH  ESCAPE.         149 

advised  of  the  plans  of  jSTappo's  friends,  Avhile,  at  the  same 
time,  he  had  arranged  eveiy  thing  to  tally  with  his  own  future 
purposes,  was  none  other  than  the  wily  and  heartless  rogue — 
Ralph  Taskem,  of  Tennessee  ! 

But  his  dupes  knew  nothing  at  all  of  this !  They  conferred 
with  him,  in  good  faith,  believing  the  stranger  to  be  "  true  as 
steel"  to  the  cause ;  he,  therefore,  had  them  at  singular  disad 
vantage,  and  he  went  forth  instanter  to  profit  by  it. 

At  daybreak  on  the  following  morning,  every  thing  had 
been  put  in  readiness  for  Nappo's  departure,  and  the  route 
really  chosen  for  his  retreat  was  over  the  Mill-Dam  road,  and 
thence  to  Dedham,  where  the  little  party  purposed  to  take 
the  regular  mail  coach  to  Providence.  This  plan  would  give 
Taskem  at  least  twelve  hours'  start  upon  the  false  scheme  an 
nounced  to  the  committee  on  the  previous  night,  and  would 
be  all-sufficient  for  his  purpose  of  escape.  At  that  hour,  the 
"  guard"  would  not  be  so  likely  to  be  on  the  alert,  and  the 
difference  in  the  route  was  something  in  his  favor. 

Accordingly,  at  early  sunrise  the  carriage  was  summoned, 
and  every  thing  having  been  previously  prepared  in  anticipa 
tion  of  whatever  might  turn  up,  at  the  last  moment,  Nappo 
was  hurried  out  of  his  cell,  thrust  into  the  vehicle  at  the  prison 
door.  Taskem  jumped  in  behind  him,  two  officers  in  the  serv 
ice  of  the  United  States  Government  followed  quickly  upon 
his  heels,  and,  at  the  word,  away  rolled  the  hack  at  a  rapid 
rate  toward  the  "  Western  Avenue." 

"  Whar  you  gwine  ?"  shouted  ISTappo,  as  he  was  hastily 
pressed  forward  into  the  carriage.  "  Wot  you  gwine  to  do 
wid  me  ?" 

"  Hush  yer  noise  !"  yelled  Taskem,  throwing  aside  all  fur- 


150  THERAU-PICKER. 

ther  disguise,  and  drawing  a  double-bareled  pistol  from  his 
coat  pocket.  "  Ycr  my  lawful  properly,  noiv,  an'  I  've  a  mind 
to  knock  yer  dam  head  in  for  givin'  me  the  trouble  yer  have, 
a'  ready.  Wen  I  get  yer  whar  yer  b'long,  look  out,  d'  yer 
hear  ?  I  '11  teach  yer  that  it  arn't  such  pooty  work  to  be  run- 
nin'  round  after  a  dam  mis'able  nigger  as  yer  may  cal'Iate,  in 
this  country.  Shet  yer  infernal  ugly  jaw  up,  now,  or  I  '11 
break  a  hole  in  yer  cussed  thick  skull,  that  oughter  bin 
smashed  fer  yer  fifteen  year  ago !" 

This  ebullition  sufficed  to  quiet  poor  Nappo,  effectually,  for 
he  had  not  forgotten  his  early  education  among  this  class  of 
gentlemen,  where  the  first  ten  years  of  his  life  had  been 
passed,  though  he  kept  all  this  scrupulously  to  himself.  But, 
as  he  came  out  of  the  jail,  a  trio  of  the  "guard"  discovered 
the  movement. 

The  bulk  of  the  watchers,  unfortunately,  were  two  miles 
away !  The  line  of  Washington  street  was  well  provided  for, 
the  most  of  the  friends  having  been  stationed  in  that  direction, 
secretly ;  but  around  the  old  Court-house,  and  along  the  hill 
over  which  they  really  intended  to  pass,  the  ruse  of  Taskem 
had  provided  for,  and  but  few  of  Nappe's  friends  were  in  sight 
there. 

But  the  alarm  was  instantly  given.  The  three  negroes 
who  discovered  what  was  transpiring,  instantly  gave  out  the 
signal  agreed  upon,  and  the  early-rising  residents  of  Common 
and  Beacon,  and  Park  streets,  were  suddenly  startled  by  the 
shout  of  "  Duroc  !  Duroc !  Duroc !"  from  the  lungs  of  half  a 
score  of  men,  who  dashed  madly  along  the  streets,  apparently 
in  hot  pursuit  of  some  person  or  other,  who  was  fleeing  before 
them. 


THE  RUSE  AND  THE  ESCAPE.         151 

As  the  colored  men  mounted  the  hill  fronting  the  State 
House,  from  the  eastward,  a-carriage  hove  in  sight  from  above 
Somerset  street,  and  the  cry  of  "  Duroc  ! — here  he  comes ! 

M 

Duroc !  Duroc  !"  grew  more  frequent,  and  more  emphatic.  A 
dozen  stout  men  dashed  toward  the  flying  vehicle,  seizing  the 
horses  by  their  heads,  and  at  once  arresting  the  progress  of 
the  carriage. 

By  this  time,  sundry  white  men,  too,  from  the  neighboring 
houses,  had  turned  out  to  see  what  caused  the  disturbance ; 
and  as  the  vehicle  was  stopped,  they  ran  to  the  spot  to  ascer 
tain  what  was  going  on.  Taskem  sprang  out  of  the  carriage, 
pistol  in  hand,  and  Nappo  was  instantly  dragged  from  the  ve 
hicle  by  the  stout  hands  of  a  brace  of  his  friends.  The  slave- 
hunter  quickly  knocked  the  foremost  of  the  rescuers  to  the 
earth,  and  the  officers  followed  his  example  by  grounding  two 
more,  and  at  the  same  moment  retaking  Nappo  from  the 
hands  of  his  friends. 

The  rescuers  were  in  earnest,  however,  and  again  they 
seized  poor  Nappo,  while  a  severe  struggle  was  going  on  be 
tween  the  remainder  of  the  blacks  and  such  white  strao-o-lers 

oo 

as  chanced  to  come  up,  all  of  whom  were  summarily  ordered 
"  in  the  name  of  the  law,"  to  aid  the  officers  in  maintaining  the 
statute,  and  in  securing  their  prisoner. 

The  fight  was  animated,  and  some  unpleasant  blows  passed 
— the  suffering  negro-fugitive  receiving  his  full  share  of  hard 
knocks,  from  friends  and  foes,  amid  the  excited  melee. 

For  an  instant,  Xappo  was  triumphantly  dragged  to  the 
side  of  the  street,  in  the  arms  of  his  crazy,  but  well-meaning 
friends.  Then  he  as  suddenly  found  himself  going  backward, 
heels  over  head,  toward  the  open  carriage.  Now  he  was  upon 


152  THE     RAG-PI  CKEtt. 

the  ground,  with  the  heels  of  twenty  enraged  men  trampling 
furiously  over  his  body.  Then  he  was  dragged  to  his  feet, 
suddenly — shoved  forward,  headlong — then  grasped  from  be 
hind,  and  thrown  from  side  to  side — now  here,  now  there ; 
but  in  spite  of  his  best  efforts  to  be  heard,  could  effect  nothing 
whatever. 

Mr.  Ralph  Taskem  was  handled  without  gloves !  On  every 
side  he  met  with  buffets  and  blows.  His  pistol  was  unloaded, 
as  it  happened.  The  weapon  was  Avrested  from,  his  hand  as 
he  left  the  carriage,  and  from  time  to  time,  as  he  came  for 
ward  to  assist  in  securing  Nappo,  he  was  severely  beaten  by 
the  rude  crowd.  But  he  fought  valiantly,  and  with  a  zeal 
worthy  a  better  cause. 

Meantime,  poor  Nappo  could  be  seen,  torn  first  in  one  di 
rection  and  then  in  the  opposite,  bleeding,  and  shouting,  and 
weeping,  until  at  last,  scarcely  a  single  rag  of  clothing  was 
left  upon  him,  save  his  shoes  and  stockings,  so  violent  had 
been  the  struggle  of  which  he  was  personally  the  object. 

Taskem  and  the  officers,  assisted  by  the  driver,  and  such 
persons  as  chose  to  fall  in  upon  their  side,  were  anxious  to 
force  Nappo  back  into  the  carriage.  The  fugitive's  friends 
were  equally  as  desirous  that  he  should  be  got  out  of  their 
hands,  and  that  he  should  be  afforded  the  opportunity  to  flee, 
which  he  would  have  done,  right  gladly,  had  he  been  able  to 
effect  this  very  desirable  object. 

But  they  struggled  in  vain ;  and  Nappo,  worn  out  with  the 
rough  usage  he  had  received,  and  completely  beaten  out  and 
exhausted  with  pulling,  and  hauling,  and  tramping,  found  him 
self  suddenly  pressed  forward,  and  entering  the  carriage  once 
more,  with  Taskem  and  the  two  deputies  behind  him,  he  resigned 


THE     RUSK     AND     T II  E     ESCAPE.  153 

himself  to  his  fate,  as  the  horses  again  dashed  away  at  a  mad 
gallop,  down  Beaver  street,  followed  by  a  few  colored  men, 
who  shouted  and  ran  themselves  out  of  breath,  toward  the 
Mill-Dam  road,  and  then  returned,  panting  with  rage  and  ex 
citement,  and  the  violence  of  the  unnatural  exercise,  and  all  to 
no  good  purpose ! 

They  had  been  cajoled  by  "  Mr.  Brown ;"  their  well-laid 
schemes  had  been  frustrated ;  the  fugitive  had  been  carried  oft* 
before  their  eyes ;  they  had  been  sadly  worsted  in  the  strug 
gle  ;  and  the  slave-hunter  had  escaped  without  serious  harm. 

With  curses  both  loud  and  deep  they  retired  from  the  fray. 
They  had  used  their  best  exertions  to  save  him,  but  Fate  was 
against  them,  and  they  submitted,  though  not  without  bitter 
murmurings.  Nappo  was  soon  afterward  forgotten. 

"  Never  yer  mind,  my  boy,"  said  Taskem  to  Nappo,  who 
sat  panting  and  bleeding  upon  the  seat  before  him,  unable 
scarcely  to  speak,  so  terribly  had  he  been  used,  "  Never  yer 
mind !  I  '11  fix  yer  flint  for  yer,  bime-by.  Ef  I  don't  make 
all  this  up  with  yer  w'en  I  git  yer  home,  my  name  arn't  Ralph 
Taskem,  that's  all." 

"  I  did  n't  do  nuff'n,  massa,"  said  Nappo,  meekly." 

"  Shet  up  yer  head,  I  say,"  bawled  Taskem,  rudely.  "  I  '11 
settle  yer  hash  for  yer,  mind,  one  o'  these  fine  days." 

And  Taskem  was  true  to  this  promise  ! 
7* 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


A     LOWLY     DEATH-BED. 


And  yet,  for  all  thy  merry  look, 

Thy  frisks  and  wiles  —  the  time  is  coining 
When  thou  shalt  sit  in  cheerless  nook, 

Thy  weary  spell  or  horn-book  thumbing. 
Well  ;  let  it  be  !  Through  weal  and  woo 

Thou  know'st  not  now  thy  future  range  ; 
Life  is  a  motley,  shifting  show, 

And  thou  a  thing  of  hope  and  change  ! 


XNA  BAILLIE. 


MR.  MEEKER  and  his  wife  were  necessarily  very  early  risers. 
The  goldsmith,  was  obliged  to  be  "  down  town1'  seasonably,  on 
account  of  his  business,  and  Mrs.  Meeker  always  had  the 
breakfast  hot  and  in  readiness,  betimes,  that  her  husband 
miffht  not  bo  detained. 

O 

Though  she  was  astir  before  daylight,  her  little  guests  —  who 
had  slept  soundly  all  night  —  were  wide  awake  ;  and  by  the 
time  the  kitchen  fire  was  fairly  kindled,  down  came  Toney 
and  Carrie,  to  bid  the  kind  strange  lady  good  morning,  and  to 
see  what  there  was  to  be  seen  in  their  new  stopping-place. 

A  thousand  queer  things  greeted  them.  And  the  oft- 
repeated  questions  of  the  ambitious  Carrie  —  "What's  this, 
lady  ?"  and  "  What  is  this  for,  lady  ?"  were  answered  without 
hesitancy  or  a  seeming  lack  of  good  nature  on  the  part  of 


A     LOWLY    DEATH -BED.  155 

Mrs.  Meeker,  who  was  delighted  with  the  child's  forwardness 
and  her  pretty  manners. 

"  Ain't  that  nice,  bub  ?"  and  "  is  n't  this  pooty  2"  and  "  don't 
we  wish  we  had  'em  at  our  home  2"  were  the  queries  con 
stantly  propounded  to  her  brother ;  and  Toney  said,  "  'Sh  !  you 
musn't  make  a  noise,  sis,"  as  Carrie  came  to  be  importunate 
and  uneasy. 

Every  thing  about  the  premises  was  bright,  and  clean,  and 
substantial,  and  convenient.  Finally  the  breakfast  was  served 
up,  and  all  partook  of  it  with  hearty  yusto. 

Mr.  Meeker  went  away,  and  promised  to  return  in  the 
course  of  the  morning,  as  soon  as  he  should  have  ascertained 
any  thing  satisfactory  in  regard  to  the  children's  parents  or 
dwelling-place.  And,  meantime,  the  little  ones  were  left  to 
rollick  with  Charlie,  with  whom  they  very  quickly  got  ac 
quainted. 

Before  the  sun  rose  Dolly  Curtain  was  abroad,  too.  She 
went  to  the  crier's  office  again  (where  Mr.  Meeker  had  pre 
ceded  her,  as  it  chanced),  and  before  eleven  o'clock  she  found 
the  fugitives  at  the  goldsmith's  residence. 

Carrie  was  peeping  out  at  the  front  window  of  the  house, 
wondering  where  all  the  people  came  from,  and  where  they 
went  to;  and  suddenly  she  clapped  her  little  hands,  and 
shouted : 

"  There  she  is  !  there  she  is !" 

"Who,  my  dear?"  asked  Mrs.  Meeker,  approaching  the 
window. 

"  Dolly,  Dolly,  Dolly !  there  she  is."     And  so  it  happened. 

Dolly  had  learned  the  address  of  the  goldsmith,  and  she 
soon  found  the  street,  and  was  searching  for  the  name,  upon 


156  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

the  doors,  when  Carrie  discovered  her.  The  meeting  was  a 
happy — and  yet  a  mournful  one  !  For,  though  she  had  found 
the  stragglers,  the  poor  woman  was  in  the  predicament  of 
the  unlucky  wight  who  drew  the  elephant  in  the  lottery. 
What  could  she  now  do  with  them  ? 

Dolly  waited  till  after  the  dinner-hour.  When  Mr.  Meeker 
returned  at  that  time,  she  frankly  explained  to  him  the  precise 
condition  of  matters,  and  asked  his  advice.  It  was  out  of  her 
power  to  afford  the  little  ones  further  aid.  The  mother  was  a 
lunatic.  The  father  was  worse,  and  had  not  been  seen  or 
heard  of  for  a  month.  When  they  left  the  goldsmith's  house, 
the  town  must  provide  for  them. 

It  was  clear  to  Mr.  Meeker  that  he  could  not  afford  to  as 
sume  the  protection  of  the  two  children  permanently,  hut  he 
was  willing  to  do  all  that  he  thought  he  ought  to  do.  And, 
after  due  consultation,  it  was  arranged  that  Toney  should  re 
main  with  him  for  the  present,  and  that  Dolly  should  take 
charge  of  Came,  who  was  the  youngest,  and  whom  she  did 
iiot  hesitate  to  think  she  could  manage,  and  provide  for — at 
least  until  some  better  opportunity  should  turn  up  for  her 
advantage. 

And  without  creating  any  scene  with  Toney,  Dolly  Curtain 
quietly  drew  Carrie  aside,  after  dinner,  and  departed,  with 
many  thanks  to  the  kind  people  who  sheltered  them  over 
night,  taking  Carrie  with  her,  once  more,  to  her  lonely  and 
cheerless  abode. 

A  few  weeks  passed  away,  and  Toney  had  been  sent  to 
school  again  by  his  benefactor.  Carrie  fretted  and  cried  for 
mamma  and  for  brother,  for  a  while ;  but  the  warm  sunshine 
soon  came  again,  and  the  bees  were  abroad,  and  then  the 


A     LOWLY    DEATH-BED.  157 

grass  peeped  up  in  the  warm  nooks  and  crevices  around  the 
edges  of  the  houses  and  the  sidewalks,  and  she  could  sit  upon 
the  old  door-steps  and  watch  the  passers-by,  while  poor  Dolly 
plied  her  needle  above-stairs,  and  earned  the  means  to  take 
care  of  herself  and  her  little  protegee. 

And,  finally,  Old  Davy  came  again.  And  she  ran  to  him, 
and  sprang  blithely  into  the  old  man's  arms,  as  if  he  were 
"  all  the  world"  to  her  ! 

And  Davy  embraced  his  "  cherub,"  and  sat  down  by  her, 
and  told  her  fresh  tales  of  what  he  had  seen  since  they  met, 
and  talked  of  all  the  pretty  things  they  had  ever  spoken  of 
before,  and  they  were  very,  very  happy. 

One  day,  late  in  the  spring,  Toney  suddenly  disappeared 
from  the  residence  of  his  benefactor,  and  did  not  return. 
Search  was  duly  made,  but  without  success — he  could  not  be 
found.  And  though  the  distress  caused  to  the  hearts  of  the 
goldsmith  and  his  wife  was  serious — for  they  had  become 
deeply  attached  to  him — they  could  learn  nothing  whatever  in 
regard  to  him,  and  they  had  no  means  of  determining  whether 
he  was  dead  or  alive. 

The  boy  was  studiously  inquired  for  in  all  directions — he 
was  duly  advertised — but  all  without  avail.  The  runaway 
was  not  forthcoming  again,  nor  did  Dolly  ever  see  or  hear 
from  him,  in  any  way,  from  the  hour  she  left  him  in  Mr. 
Meeker's  charge. 

As  the  blossoms  and  the  buds  burst  from  the  trees,  and  the 
warm  south  winds  came  back  over  the  green  fields  again,  lit 
tle  Carrie  was  more  frequently  in  the  streets,  and  saw  more 
of  her  ancient  friend,  Davy.  Fortune  seemed  to  smile  on  the 
good  old  man  again,  as  the  spring-time  passed  by. 


158  THERAG-PTCKER. 

Then,  every  day,  he  would  find  his  darling  little  girl,  who 
flew  to  meet  him  at  every  visit,  with  as  much  earnestness  as 
ever  maiden  did  to  greet  her  lover !  They  would  wander  off 
to  the  bright  green  lawn  that  graced  some  narrow  lot,  or  quiet 
church-yard,  and  linger  for  hours  in  happy  intercourse — the 
old  man  relating  tales  of  by-gone  days,  and  Carrie  singing  to 
him  and  prattling  with  him,  until  hunger  drove  her  back  to 
her  protectress  again. 

Suddenly  poor  Dolly  Curtain  look  sick  "with  a  fever,  and 
Carrie  was  taken  away  from  her.  A  week  passed  away,  and 
Mr.  Goodson  stood  beside  her  bed,  administering  to  the  unfor 
tunate  but  kindly  woman  the  last  consolations  of  religion, 
during  a  moment  of  fitful  consciousness,  the  first  that  had 
been  permitted  her  for  four  days. 

Dolly  was  dying ! 

"  Is  there  any  one  here  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice,  looking 
up  with  a  calm,  but  death-like  expression. 

Her  poor  neighbor  stood  by,  and  said  : 

"  Here  is  Mr.  Goodson,  Dolly." 

"  Is  Carrie — Came — here  ?" 

The  little  one  had  been  absent  all  day  long,  but  her  attend 
ant  assured  her  that  "  she  will  soon  return." 

* 

"  Take  care  of  Carrie,  won't  you,  Sarah  ?"  she  said,  faintly. 
"  I  'm  very  bad — bad,  here,  Mr.  Goodson !"  and  she  placed  her 
bony  hand  upon  her  heart,  as  she  gasped  for  breath. 

"  God  is  great,"  murmured  the  missionary.  "  His  loving- 
kindness  endureth  forever !  Look  unto  Him  in  thy  hour  of 
trouble,  for  he  will  not  forsake  thec."  And  kneeling  beside 
the  failing  woman,  he  breathed  an  earnest  prayer  that  her  de 
parting  soul  might  find  its  rest  with  the  angels. 


A    LOWLY     DEATH -BED.  159 

Carrie  Ellson  returned  at  sunset,  and  was  taken  by  the  poor 
woman  into  Dolly's  room,  where  her  late  friend  lay  calm  and 
cold  in  death ! 

"  W'y  don't  she  speak  to  me  ?"  asked  the  little  innocent. 

"She  carn't,"  said  the  woman. 

"  Wen  she  Avakes  up,  she  will." 

"  She  Avon't  AA7ake  up  no  more." 

"  Never  ?"  asked  Carrie. 

"Never  /"  responded  Sarah,  solemnly. 

The  child  leaned  over  and  kissed  the  marble-like  forehead 
of  her  protectress,  and  saying — "Poor  Dolly!"  burst  into 
tears. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


THE    PAUPER'S    GRAVE. 


Bury  her  there — no  matter  where  I 

None  by  her  death  are  bereft ; 
Stopping  to  pray  ?    Shovel  away !  & 

We  still  haye  enough  of  'em  left. 

EASTMAK. 


DOLLY  CURTAIN  was  buried  in  the  ancient  grounds  at  Copp's 
Hill.  The  woman  who  laid  out  her  remains,  and  who  had 
the  care  of  her  during  her  few  days'  final  illness,  appointed 
herself  administratrix  of  Dolly's  affairs,  as  soon  as  the  breath 
left  the  poor  creature's  body. 

"  She  said — 'Give  my  things  to  the  poor — '  "  remarked  Sa 
rah  to  herself,  as  she  closed  Dolly's  eyes.  The  sentence  was 
unfinished  upon  Dolly's  lips,  however,  iox  she  intended  to 
have  said — "  Give  my  things  to  the  poor  little  girl  Carrie? 
But  Death  cut  short  the  remark,  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  Sa 
rah  profited  by  that  same.  "  For,"  she  argued,  "  to  carry 
out  Dolly's  desire,  the  poor  must  have  her  effects.  I  '11  see 
to  it.  But  if  I  find  any  buddy  poorer  'n  /  am,  w'y  then — " 

"  Bless  me !"  she  ejaculated,  "  here  's  a  nice  bumberzeen 
gownd,  I  declare,  good  's  new,  and  lots  o'  flannels,  too." 

And  as  she  tumbled  over  dead  Dolly's  old  chest  of  draw- 


THE  PAUPER'S   GRAVE.  161 

ers,  she  discovered  a  great  many  common  but  good  articles 
of  clothing,  that  pleased  her  much. 

"  She  was  allers  poor  as  Job's  cat,  but  she 's  left  good 
clo'es  behind  her,  I  'in  sure,"  continued  Sarah.  "  But  she 
don't  want  'em  now,  surely,  an'  I  do.  I  hope  she 's  better  off. 
P'raps  she 's  in  a  warmer  place  'n  this.  Who  knows  2"  add 
ed  the  ignorant  woman,  at  last. 

And  with  this  remark,  she  disposed  of  every  thing  she 
could  lay  hands  on,  before  the  articles  could  be  seen  by  any 
one  else. 

"  She  was  very  destitute,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Mr.  Good- 
son,  when  he  came  to  officiate  at  the  funeral. 

"  Oh,  dre'dful !"  said  the  woman  ;  "  had  n't  nothin'  but  the 
clo'es  she  died  in,  and  a  few  old  duds,  'round  here." 

And  Sarah  opened  the  drawers  of  the  old  bureau  to  con 
vince  the  man  of  her  assertion.  They  were  empty  ! 

"  What  has  become  of  the  little  girl,  Carrie,  whom  she 
took  under  her  care  ?" 

"  I  do'  no,"  said  Sarah.  "  She 's  gone  away  with  an  old 
beggar  she  calls  Davy.  I  hope  he  '11  keep  her.  /  can't,  any 
how." 

On  the  followingaflfternoon,  the  rag-picker  was  wandering 
among  the  grave-stones  in  the  ancient  burial-yard,  and  Car 
rie  was  trotting  slowly  at  his  side,  beneath  the  warm  sunshine. 

The  gentle  south  wind  was  blowing  across  the  Hill,  and 
Davy  was  more  contemplative  and  somber  than  was  his  wont. 
The  place,  the  circumstances  that  surrounded  him  at  the  mo 
ment,  Dolly's  death — which  he  had  recently  heard  of — and 
his  solicitude  for  his  darling  Carrie,  together,  operated  to  ren 
der  him  thoughtful  and  melancholy. 


162  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

A  newly-dug-  grave  arrested  his  attention. 

"  Who  is  this  for  ?"  humbly  asked  Davy. 

The  professional  man  turned  round,  and  noticing  the  homely 
garb  of  his  interrogator,  made  no  reply.  Davy  supposed  he 
did  not  hear,  and  so  he  said  again  : 

"Who's  it/or  T 

"  For  some  body  'at 's  dead,  I  s'poze,"  replied  the  digger, 
crustily,  as  he  hove  up  the  gravel. 

"  Who  is  dead  ?"  said  Davy. 

"  The  one  in  the  coff'n,  likely,"  responded  the  man,  and 
nodding  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  gate,  on  his  left. 
The  eye  of  the  rag-picker  turned  that  way  to  behold  two  men 
in  the  act  of  bringing  up  what  he  found  to  be  the  corpse  in 
tended  for  the  grave  near  him. 

It  was  a  plain  pine  box,  with  a  dull  leaden  plate  upon  the 
top,  upon  which  was  gouged  the  words — "  DOLLY  CURTAIN, 
Died  June  7,  18 — .  -Aye,  40  years" 

"  It  arn't  long  enough  by  a  fut,"  said  one  of  the  Irishmen, 
who  had  been  employed  by  the  city  to  dump  the  body  in  the 
hole. 

"  Did  n't  he  say  it  was  a  woman  ?n  queried  the  grave-dig 
ger,  angrily.  "  And  havn't  I  made  it  five  feet  two,  strong  ? 
Dam 'em!  "Who's  agoin'  to  dig  a  six  foot  hole  for  four- 
and-six?  /ain't." 

"  Cut  the  end  uv  it  away,  man — fernent  ye,"  suggested 
the  other  Hibernian,  "  an'  don't  be  botherin'  us  wid  yer  growl'n. 
It 's  ha'  past  three,  sure,  an'  we  have  three  more  o'  thim  same 
to  dump  afore  aivnin'." 

The  grave-digger  seized  his  spade,  knocked  away  a  few 
inches  more  of  earth,  and  growled  out : 


THE   PAUPER'S   GRAVE.  163. 

"  Now  try  her." 

As  the  two  men  seized  the  coffin  once  more,  to  hurry  it 
into  the  hole,  the  old  man  approached,  holding  Carrie  by 
the  hand,  and  said : 

"  Stop,  men  !     One  word  for  the  departed  !" 

His  solemn  but  commanding  manner,  his  venerable  face 
and  form — notwithstanding  his  rude  attire — as  he  now  stood 
uncovered  at  the  edge  of  the  grave,  with  his  long  gray  hair 
streaming  in  the  wind,  arrested  the  movements  of  the  hard- 

O  i 

ened  grave-digger,  even,  who  said  : 

"  What  now «" 

The  poor,  honest-hearted  old  rag-picker  gazed  sadly  at  the 
rude  coffin,  and  meekly  offered  up  to  Heaven  a  parting  sup 
plication  for  the  spirit  of  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE     HOMELESS     BIRD. 

Yes — for  a  spirit,  pure  as  hers, 
Is  always  pure,  e'en  while  it  errs, 
As  sunshine,  broken  in  the  rill, 
Though  turned  astray,  is  sunshine  still! 


MOOKE. 


RETURNING  slowly  from  the  graveyard,  the  rag-picker  and 
his  young  friend  had  scarcely  crossed  a  couple  of  streets  when 
they  were  startled  by  the  appearance  of  a  wild,  fierce-looking 
man.  He  was  approaching  them  with  as  much  rapidity  as  his 
inebriate  state  would  allow,  and  was  evidently  intent  on  secur 
ing  Carrie. 

As  soon  as  she  fairly  made  him  out,  she  sprang  away  up 
the  walk  as  fast  as  her  little  feet  could  carry  her,  dodging  the 
street  passengers  as  she  went,  but  hurrying  on  like  a  startled 
fawn,  while  her  pursuer  followed,  muttering  as  he  staggered 
up  the  street,  "  Stop !  stop,  you  elf,  you  young  witch,  stop ! 
See  'f  I  don't  fix  you,  w'en  I  get  at  you,  now.  See  'f  I  don't." 

But  Carrie  heeded  not  his  threatening  words.  Away  she 
flew,  and  turned  the  first  corner  quickly,  then  the  next,  and 
the  next,  as  fast  as  possible,  fretting  and  gasping  for  breath, 
until  she  suddenly  saw  the  figure  of  old  Davy,  who  had 
with  great  difficulty  overtaken  her.  Bushing  wildly  up  to 
him,  she  clung  to  his  knees,  and  shrieked — 


THE     HOMELESS    BIRD.  165 

"  He  's  comiii' — lie  's  comin' !  Quick,  Davy,  Davy — don't 
let  him  have  poor  Carrie !" 

"  Who  is  it,  love  ?     Who?" 

"  In  here — in  here,  quick  !"  whispered  the  child,  catching 
the  skirt  of  old  Davy's  coat,  and  dragging  him  down  into  a 
dark  archway,  nearly.  "Here — quick!  He  can't  see  us 
here,"  she  said,  as  the  tumbled  into  the  doorway.  "'$/£/" 

And  a  moment  or  two  afterward,  the  man  passed  by,  still 
chattering  as  he  went,  "  'F  I  don't  fix  you,  my  name  ain't 
Henry  Ellson.  See  'f  I  don't,  young  miss !" 

It  was  Carrie's  father !  He  had  missed  her  for  several  days 
previously,  during  which  time  he  had  been  fearfully  intoxi 
cated,  and  was  now  only  partially  recovered  from  his  previous 
week's  indulgence.  He  saw  at  the  first  glance  that  Came  in 
tended  to  shun  him,  and,  in  his  anger  and  vengeance,  he 
would  have  beaten  her  ruthlessly,  could  he  have  put  his  crazy 
gripe  upon  her  delicate  form. 

But  he  staggered  by,  murmuring  and  cursing  the  little 
runaway  as  he  went,  and  threatening  her  with  his  vengeance 
when  he  should  overtake  her. 

Davy  watched  the  reeling  form  of  the  miserable  man,  un 
til  he  got  far  out  of  reach  of  them,  and  turning  to  Carrie,  he 
said — 

"  Come,  deary !  He 's  gone.  He  shan't  harm  you.  Do  you 
know  who  it  is  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  whispered  Carrie,  "/  know.  He  w'ips  me,  he 
does,  and — and — plagues  mamma." 

"Who  is  it,  Carrie?" 

"  Hush !  Is  ho  gone  ?"  she  continued,  creeping  stealthily 
to  the  doorway,  and  peeping  cautiously  out,  "  is  he  gone  ?" 


166  THE     BAG-PICKER. 

"  Yes,  he  won't  find  you." 

" It 's  papa — papa"  whispered  Carrie  in  the  old  man's  ear ; 
"  my  papa." 

"  Come !"  said  the  old  man,  "  let  us  go  from  here  ;  he  may 
return  this  way." 

And  Carrie  quickly  took  the  extended  hand  of  Davy,  and 
trotted  away  by  his  side,  soon  forgetting,  in  his  society,  her 
late  desperate  fright. 

"  We  won't  stay  about  here  any  longer,  Carrie,  where  they^ 
abuse,  and  threaten,  and  fright  you.  We  '11  go  off,  away 
among  the  hills  and  green  fields,  and  where  they  can  not 
follow  and  distress  us.  Won't  we,  deary  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes — that  will  be  so  nice,"  responded  Carrie,  grate 
fully,  "  so  nice  !  Come,  let  us  go  now,  Davy  !" 

And  while  the  aged  rag-picker  smiled  upon  the  innocent 
but  indigent  little  creature  beside  him,  who  entertained  no 
thought  for  the  future,  who  was  never  wearied  in  following 
his  footsteps,  and  who  sang  and  chirped  as  she  went,  reckless 
of  wet,  and  cold,  and  suffering,  he  blessed  her,  blessed  her 
with  all  his  soul,  and  solemnly  pledged  himself  to  protect,  and 
guard,  and  guide  her — God  willing — while  he  was  spared  to 
carry  out  his  g-ood  intentions. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 
(• 

THE     LUNATIC     MOTHER. 

Her  happiness  seemed  fled— for  aye ! 

And  all  was  dark  desponding — 
Save  in  the  opening  gates  of  day, 

And  the  dear  home  beyond  them. 

ETTBIOK  SirepnEED. 

THANKS  to  the  judicious  and  tender  treatment  extended  to 
Annie  Brittan,  after  her  arrival  at  the  Insane  Asylum,  she 
began  slowly  to  exhibit  improvement. 

Over  four  months  passed  by  from  the  hour  when  she  was 
placed  in  confinement,  and  her  bodily  sickness  had  yielded 
to  the  experiments  to  which  she  was  subjected.  But  her  men 
tal  powers  were  shocked,  past  all  present  relief;  and  in  the 
semi-annual  report  of  the  officers  of  the  institution  where  she 
Avas  confined,  appeared  the  following  item : 

"  Annie  Ellson  ;  married  woman  ;  distorted  brain  ;  symp 
toms  threatening;  restoration  doubtful? 

She  was  alone,  m  a  well-ventilated  but  contracted  room, 
and  though  her  madness  was  intense,  yet  she  was  a  calm 
and  manageable  patient,  save  when  a  glimmer  of  "  the  good 
old  days"  seemed  to  possess  her. 

Then  she  would  mourn,  and  cry  out,  and  approach  the 


168  THE     KAG-PICKER. 

bars  that  were  placed  across  the  door  of  her  room,  and  thrust 
forth  her  hands,  and  struggle  to  escape,  as  she  murmured : 

"  /  did  it !  He  is  innocent.  The  baby  died — died — and 
lie  was  far  away.  Pray  let  him  come  again.  Don't  hurt 
him  !  Father !  don't — don't  hurt  him.  He  loves  us — loves 
us  dearly.  And  Carrie  will  come,  too.  Little  Carrie — little, 
darling,  chirping,  Carrie.  'Sh  ! — he 's  sleeping,  now !  And 
he  '11  come  back — and  we  '11  be  happy — happy — happy,  always 
happy.  Won't  we,  Toney,  dear  ?" 

And  then  a  relapse  would  follow,  and  Annie  would  sink 
down  against  the  bars  again,  and  weep,  and  pray  for  Henry 
— her  lost  and  loved  husband — for  hours  together. 

But  she  would  not  converse  of  him.  The  government  of 
the  association  were  always  attentive  and  kind  to  her,  but 
her  mind  had  been  fearfully  shattered,  and  she  remained  in 
that  lonely  mad-house,  a  close  prisoner,  for  years  afterward ! 

The  rag-picker  seemed  to  have  aroused  himself  from  a  long 
and  dreary  sleep  !  He  took  Carrie  away,  and  Sarah  never 
saw  her  afterward,  at  least  to  recognize  her.  But  this  was  a 
fortunate  circumstance,  as  it  proved,  for  the  selfish  woman  had 
determined  not  to  receive  the  little  fugitive  again,  into  her 
family,  at  any  rate. 

Davy  procured  lodgings  for  himself  and  the  child  that 
night,  and  on  the  following  day  he  left  his  old  haunts  for 
ever,  taking  Carrie  with  him. 

The  old  man  saw  that  the  child  had  no  home,  no  relatives, 
no  friends  on  earth,  save  himself.  And  he  resolved  in  his 
heart,  that  if  his  life  were  prolonged,  he  would  thenceforth 
protect  and  provide  for  the  wanderer. 

He  had  scraped  together  a  few  dollars,  and  he  procured 


THE     LUX  A  TIC     MOTHER.  169 

her  a  decently  respectable  suit  of  garments — poor,  but  com 
fortable — and  started  upon  a  journey — he  knew  not  whither, 
then  ! — but  resolved  upon  finding  a  home  for  his  protege, 
whom  he  loved  with  singularly  earnest  devotion. 

Carrie  was  as  happy  as  a  lark  when  he  told  her  how  she 
should  remain  with  him,  and  be  his  daughter  and  comforter. 

"  An'  not  go  home  no  more  ?"  asked  Carrie. 

"  Not  there"  said  Davy ;  " but  I  will  find  a  home  for  you. 
And  you  shall  see  the  green  fields,  and  hear  the  birds  sing, 
and  be  happy,  always — always — with  Davy." 

Carrie's  heart  leaped  wildly  in  her  little  bosom  at  this 
prospect,  for  she  loved  Davy  more  and  more  every  day. 

Simple,  innocent,  confiding,  loving  Carrie  Ellson !  Verily, 
thou  wert  easily  contented  ! 

Her  days  of  weeping  had  early  passed  away.  Hope  and 
Faith  led  her  gently  on.  The  light-hearted  fawn,  as  it  leaped 
and  gamboled  in  the  cool  forest  shade,  was  not  freer  from 
feeling  of  care.  The  birdling,  as  it  chirped  in  its  native  nest, 
thought  not  less  of  the  morrow  than  she  ! 

There  was  nothing  now  in  her  prospect  that  was  dreary  or 
forbidding,  and  her  little  feet  seemed  never  wearied  with  fol 
lowing  upon  the  footsteps  of  the  good  old  man  she  loved. 

She  trotted  on,  and  sang  as  merrily  as  the  thrush  in  his 
hawthorn-bush  home.  And  Davy  smiled  on  her,  and  blessed 
her  and  petted  her,  as  they  went. 

"Dear  child !     Sweet  happy  girl!     If  thou  appear 
Heedless — untouched  with  awe  or  serious  thought, 
Thy  nature  is  not  therefore  less  divine  ; 
Thou  liest  in  Abraham's  bosom,  all  the  year — 
And  worshipest  at  the  Temple's  inner  shrine — 
GOD  being  with  thee,  when  we  know  it  not  1" 
8 


170  THEKAG-PICKEK. 

While  the  writer  is  now  tracing  these  lines,  the  dreary 
winds  of  autumn  are  sighing  mournfully  around  the  dwellings 
of  the  poor,  and  the  chilling  air  of  raw  October  is  forcing- 
its  shivering  breath  through  the  crevices  left  unrepaired  by 
the  negligent  and  crafty  landlord,  who  never  neglects  to  call 
for  his  weekly  or  monthly  rent,  before  the  breakfast  hour  on 
the  morning  it  falls  due  ! 

"  That  hole  in  the  ruff,  sir,"  says  poor  Maggie  Shean,  "  wicli 
ye  Ve  bin  goin'  to  stop,  so  long — "  and  she  hands  over  to 
Grabble  the  monthly  stipend  she  has  saved,  in  good  hard  sil 
ver,  from  her  toil.  "  It 's  verra  bad,  sir,  so  it  is,  for  the  chil- 
ders.  Won't  ye  plaze  come  in,  and  be  lookiu'  at  it  ?  The 
rain  pours  in  on  the  bed." 

"  Some  other  time — not  now,  Maggie.  Let 's  see,  is  this 
right  ?"  responds  the  landlord.  "  One  cent  short ;  never  mind 
— recollect  it  next  month."  And  he  does  not  forget  it ! 

When  it  rains  and  snows,  he  can  not  fix  the  breach  in  the 
old  roof.  When  the  weather  is  pleasant,  they  do  not  want  it 
done,  he  argues.  And  so  the  children  may  shake  with  the 
cold,  and  the  storms  may  drive  in  upon  the  bed — Tie  does  not 
feel  it !  Have  these  people  got  beds,  too  ?  Some  of  them 
have ! 

Oh !  ye,  whom  Heaven  has  blessed  with  competency,  and 
who  know  nothing  of  the  gripe  of  Want  or  the  stings  of  Pov 
erty — ye,  upon  whom  the  sun  of  Fortune  constantly  smiles — 
who  have  enough  ! — spare  from  the  store  that  God  has  vouch 
safed  to  you,  and  give  to  the  destitute  and  needy;  remembering, 
that  he  who  thus  giveth  to  the  poor,  lendeth  to  the  LORD  ! 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

ANTHONY    BRITTAN'S    WARD. 

That's  my  sweet  Julie.  !    "Why,  upon  this  face, 
Blushes  such  daybreak,  one  might  swear  the  Morning 
"Were  come  to  visit  Tithon.      *      *      * 

Thy  father  loved  me  well ; 

And  thou  shalt  have  a  dowry,  to  buy  thy  mate. 

RICIIELIEU. 

THE  father  of  Annie  Ellson  sat  in  his  easy-chair,  perusing1  a 
letter  he  had  recently  received  from  England.  The  seal  upon 
the  envelop  was  black,  and  the  paper  upon  which  the  epistle 
was  written  was  also  edged  "  in  mourning."  Yet  the  intelli 
gence  it  communicated  was  not  altogether  unwelcome  to  the 
obdurate  parent,  though  it  told  him  of  the  death  of  a  distant 
relative,  whom  he  had  once  valued. 

The  point  most  interesting  to  him,  however,  was  the  an 
nouncement  it  contained,  to  the  effect  that  his  deceased  friend 
had  left  behind  him  a  motherless  daughter,  whom  the  dying 
father  had  consigned  to  Brittan's  future  charge,  and  who 
would  soon  arrive  (in  charge  of  an  acquaintance)  in  America, 
bringing  with  her  a  letter  of  credit  from  the  Rothschild's,  upon 
a  substantial  banking-house  in  New  York,  for  the  amount  of 
the  fortune  her  parent  left  her  at  his  decease — about  four 
thousand  pounds  sterling. 

Julie  Manning,  then,  the  little  daughter  of  Brittan's  old 


172  T  H  E     11  A  G  -  P  I  C  K  E  R . 

friend,  with  twenty  thousand  dollars  in  clean  hard  cash,  would 
shortly  reach  Boston,  and  Brittan  had  been  duly  appointed 
guardian  of  herself  and  her  property. 

The  news  pleased  him,  vastly !  To  be  sure  Manning  was 
dead  ;  but,  then,  people  must  die,  sooner  or  later,  argued  the 
Englishman,  and  they  could  n't  die  but  once ! 

Anthony  Brittan  rarely  thought  of  the  other  death — the 
long  and  terrible  death  that  "  waits  upon  the  unrepentant  sin 
ner's  exit"  from  the  present  life  ! 

Twenty  thousand  dollars  is  not  a  very  large  amount  of 
money  in  the  consideration  of  some  persons.  Julie  Manning 
was  but  nine  or  ten  years  old,  however,  and  this  sum  would 
shortly  be  placed  in  Brittan's  hands ;  the  income  of  which 
was  directed  to  be  applied  to  the  education  and  maintenance 
of  the  child,  until  she  should  marry — under  his  advice — or  at 
tain  her  majority.  He  looked  upon  this  money  as  an  em 
phatic  "god-send." 

Brittan  was  about  ready  to  leave  New  England.  His  real 
estate  had  been  turned  into  cash,  his  stocks  had  been  duly 
disposed  of,  and  he  only  awaited  the  receipt  of  final  letters 
from  Taskem — with  whom  he  had  been  in  constant  corre 
spondence  for  several  months — to  quit  a  locality  Avhich,  to  his 
notions,  had  smacked  too  strongly  of  the  reality  of  "  the  home 
of  the  free" 

Little  Julie  arrived,  at  length.  She  was  a  delicate  but 
winsome  creature,  and  Brittan  was  greatly  delighted  with  her, 
at  first  sight.  (At  least,  so  he  assured  her,  and  she  believed 
what  he  said.) 

The  twenty  thousand  dollar  draft  was  duly  honored ;  and, 
when  Brittan  counted  up  his  ready  means,  he  found  that,  in- 


ANTHONY     BRITTAN    S     WARD.  173 

eluding  Julie's  patrimony,  he  had  over  fifty  thousand  dollars 
at  his  present  disposal,  with  which  he  was  finally  in  readiness 
to  start  for  the  South. 

There  was  another  consideration  in  his  new  family  arrange 
ment  that  gratified  him  in  prospective.  Brittan  declared  that 
he  was  childless,  and  he  really  longed  for  some  object  upon 
which  he  could  bestow  his  affections. 

Anthony  Brittan's  affections  ! 

Yet,  what  of  feeling,  or  fancy,  or  preference  that  he  did 
possess  in  his  heart — though  the  evidence  of  the  existence  of 
every  better  sentiment  in  man's  nature  had  long  since  seemed 
to  have  been  eradicated — he  now  saw  that  he  could  lavish 
upon  Julie  Manning ;  whom  he  received  with  a  rare  display 
of  cordial  gratulation,  and  to  whom  he  volunteered  the  most 
fulsome  promises. 

Julie  was  a  child — artless,  confiding,  innocent  in  her  own 
heart,  and  zealous  in  her  devoted  obedience  to  the  dying  in 
junctions  of  her  dearly  loved  father.  He  had  informed  her 
in  detail  of  his  plans,  before  he  was  called  away ;  and,  relying 
upon  Brittan's  continued  friendship,  felt  safe  in  commending 
the  little  one  to  his  care,  while  he  enjoined  it  upon  Julie  to 
spare  no  exertions  to  render  herself  welcome  to  her  guardian, 
and  to  prove  herself  a  faithful  and  dutiful  ward. 

She  promised  her  dying  parent  all  he  desired,  and  did 
not  fail,  in  the  future,  to  redeem  that  pledge  to  its  fullest 
extent. 

Julie  knew  nothing  of  locations  in  the  country  to  which  she 
Tiad  been  thus  consigned  by  her  father,  but  she  entertained  a 
vague  idea  that  the  new  home  she  had  come  to  lay  some 
where  in  the  "  land  of  freedom." 


1*74  THE    RAO-PICKER. 

On  this  delicate  point  Brittan  said  nothing,  however,  in  her 
hearing.  When  he  was  ready  to  leave  he  left,  and  took  Julie 
with  him. 

The  gentle  stranger  enjoyed  the  excitement  and  variety  of 
the  journey.  The  cities  she  passed  through  were  fair  and 
busy  ;  the  rivers  over  which  she  was  borne  were  magnificent 
in  her  childish  eyes ;  the  people  whom  she  met  were  frank 
and  cordial  and  civil ;  and  all  was  spring  and  sunshine  to  her 
delighted  vision. 

Brittan  was  attentive,  indulgent,  fatherly  in  his  treatment 
toward  her.  She  visited  all  the  places  of  public  amusement, 
and  heard  "  Hail  Columbia,"  and  the  "  Flag  of  the  Free,"  sung 
by  thousands  of  happy  intelligent  liberty-loving  men  and 
women. 

Finally  they  reached  Kentucky,  where  Brittan  had  arranged 
to  meet  Taskem  in  person,  to  conclude  certain  business  ar 
rangements  he  had  in  view ;  and  there  she  ascertained  that 
these  hymns  were  not  so  well  known  among  the  people ! 

Julie  Manning  was  less  than  ten  years  old.  The  future 
ought  to  have  been  bright  for  her,  for  she  had  been  carefully 
nurtured,  hitherto,  and  she  was  a  being  loving,  and  worthy  to 
be  loved  and  rendered  happy. 

But  Julie  had  much  to  learn,  yet.  In  the  now  seeming 
clear  horizon  of  her  earthly  hopes  there  was  a  cloud  beyond, 
but  she  could  not,  did  not  see  it ! 

She  resigned  herself  confidingly  and  implicitly  to  the 
guardian  of  her  father's  choice,  and  submitted  dutifully  to  his 
guidance  and  direction. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE    PEACEFUL    MESSENGER. 

Speak  gently  to  the  erring  I 

To  know  not  of  the  power 
With  which  the  dark  temptation  came, 

Iii  some  unguarded  hour. 

ANONYMOUS. 

MR.  MEEKER,  the  kindly-disposed  goldsmith,  had  been  on 
the  qui  vim  constantly,  since  Toney's  truancy,  in  the  hope 
that  he  should  hear  of  his  whereabouts.  But  the  boy  kept 
out  of  sight  mysteriously,  and  his  friend  could  learn  nothing 
of  him. 

At  length  one  day  he  chanced  to  meet  with  a  person  who 
had  heard  of  Ellson's  family,  and  who  directed  Win  to  Sarah  for 
further  information.  He  found  the  former  neighbor  of  Dolly 
Curtain,  who  remembered  such  matters  connected  with  the 
unfortunate  family  as  served  to  answer  Mr.  Meeker's  present 
purpose,  though  this  woman  knew  nothing  about  Toney's 
affair  with  him. 

"  And  you  tell  me  that  Dolly 's  dead,  ma'am  ?"  said  Mr. 
Meeker,  with  deep  feeling. 

"Yes,  sir — dead  an'  gone — more 's  the  pity  for  the  little 
gal.  She  was  a  nice  little  darlin',  I  'm  sure  ;  an'  I  'd  a  kep' 
her  ef  I  could  I" 


17G  THE     KAG-PICKEK. 

"  She  is  absent,  also  ?" 

"  Gone  off  with  a  mis'able  old  beggarman,  that  nobody 
know'd  much  of,  but  who  came  round  through  the  street 
every  day,  here,  and  teased  her,  and  finally  coaxed  her  off. 
We  'd  a  sent  the  perleece  constable  arter  him,  ef  we  'd  a 
know'd  where  to  sent  him.  But  AVO  did  n't,  an'  so  they  got 
away  entirely,  and  hain't  bin  seen  sence." 

"  That  is  very  unfortunate  for  the  child." 

"  'T  is  'ncleed.  That 's  what  my  man  says.  He  did  n't 
want  no  good  o'  the  gal,  that's  plain.  What  'ud  such  a 
horrible  creetur  as  him  want  with  her,  I  'd  like  to  know.  No, 
no— you  may  be  sure  it 's  no  good." 

"  And  the  mother  ?"  queried  Mr.  Meeker. 

"  Oh,  she 's  in  the  'sylum.  Ravin'  mad  crazy,  they  say. 
She  wa'n't  no  better  than  other  folk,  but  she  carried  her  head 
pooty  high,  till  she  broke  down  altogether ;  and  then  they 
packed  her  off  to  the  'sylum — the  best  place  for  sich  kind  of 
folk,  I  'm  thinkin'." 

"And  the/ai/ier,"  continued  Mr.  Meeker,  "what  of  him?" 

"Who— Ellson?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  goldsmith. 

"  Well ;  ef  I  'd  a  hed  that  man,"  said  Sarah,  spunkily,  "I'd 
a  scalt  every  inch  o'  skin  off  uv  him,  but  I  'd  a  made  him 
larn  better  fashions." 

"  What  became  of  him  ?" 

"  What  come  of  him !  The  Lord  knows,  /  don't.  He 
wa'n't  fit  for  nobuddy  to  care  about,  anyhow.  He  got  so  bad 
at  last,  'at  he  did  n't  come  home  at  all.  An'  I  dou'no  what 
come  of  him.  I  s'poze  he 's  in  the  jail,  or  the  poor'us'.  He  'd 
ought  to  be,  surtin." 


THE     PEACEFUL     MESSENGER.  177 

"  He  was  an  unfortunate  man,  I  hear." 

"  \Jn-forfnate  /"  exclaimed  Sarah,  warming  up  at  the  tame- 
ness  of  Mr.  Meeker ;  un-fort'nate  ?  Why,  he  was  the  dred- 
fullest  drunkard  you  ever  see.  He  'd  drink  w'en  he  did  n't 
want  it,  nor  need  it,  no  more  'n  that  are  cat  there." 

"  Surely  he  did  n't  need  to  drink  ardent  spirits,  at  all,"  ven 
tured  Mr.  Meeker. 

"  Well,  I  don't  say  that,  sir.  Some  folks  needs  a  leetle,  I 
think,  occasionally." 

"  For  what  purpose,  pray  ?"  inquired  the  goldsmith. 

"  Well,  it 's  a  good  thing  w'en  you  feel  bad,  sometimes,  and 
nothin'  else  '11  go  to  the  right  spot.  But  to  be  etarnally  swill- 
in'  it,  as  he  did — " 

"I  never  knew  where  its  use,  at  all,  did  any  good  in  my 
life,"  replied  Mr.  Meeker,  firmly.  "  I  am  a  total  abstinence 
man,  at  all  times  and  under  all  circumstances,  and  I  know  I  'm 
better  off  for  it,  decidedly. 

"  But,  once  in  awhile,"  said  Sarah. 

"  Never  /"  exclaimed  the  goldsmith,  energetically. 

"  But  you  're  a  good  Christian,  arn't  you  ?" 

"  I  humbly  trust  that  my  life  is  not  reproachful,  ma'am." 

"  Very  good.  Don't  St.  Peter  himself  say,  in  the  Eomaus, 
that  you  can  take  a  little  liquor  for  the  stomack's-ache  ?" 
asked  the  woman,  triumphantly.  "  But  that 's  neither  here 
nor  there,  sir.  They  tried  every  thing  with  that  man,  an'  he 
would  drink,  an'  abuse  his  wife  an'  children ;  an'  ef  I  'd  a  had 
him,  I  'd  a  cured  him  uv  it,  or  my  name  arn't  Sally  Barns, 
that 's  all !" 

"  Poor  man,"  said  Mr.  Meeker,  tenderly  ;  "  I  pity  him,  and 
I  pray  God  he  may  be  restored  to  his  family  yet." 

8* 


178  THE     RAG- PICKER. 

"  Restored  !"  ejaculated  Sarah,  while  her  eyes  enlarged  with 
wonder ;  "  restore  Henry  Ellson  !  Well,  that  is  a  good  'un,  to 
be  sure.  No,  sir !  he  's  clean  gone — hook,  line,  and  sinker." 

"  Haply  not,  Sarah.  God  is  merciful  and  all-powerful  to 
save.  Did  you  ever  think  of  this  ?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Meeker — ef  you  'd  a  seen  what  I  've  seen  with 
that  man,  you  'd  talk  otherways  'n  that,  surt'n.  They  did 
every  thing  for  him — " 

"  Who  did  all  this  ?" 

"  W'y,  his  fren's — her  fren's.  I've  seen  'em  coax,  an'  shake, 
an'  beat  him  half  to  death  ;  an'  they  put  him  in  pris'n  a  dozen 
times ;  an'  old  Reed  us't  to  come  down  here,  an'  threat'n 
him,  an'  lam  him — " 

"  I  don't  wonder  the  poor  fellow  was  unruly,  then,"  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Meeker,  very  much  to  Sarah's  astonishment. 

"  W'y,  they  tried  him  all  ways — by  promising  an'  urgin', 
dissuashin,  persuashin — " 

"  Did  they  ever  try  moral  suasion  ?"  asked  the  goldsmith, 
interrupting  her. 

"  Moral  suasion  ?"  inquired  Sarah,  "  I  don'no  what  that  is, 
exactly ;  but  I  tell  you  that  they  tried  every  thing.  They 
could  n't  save  him,  an'  he 's  gone  to  the  dogs,  I  Ve  no  doubt, 
afore  this  time." 

Having  thus  capped  the  climax  of  her  heated  zeal  regard 
ing  Ellson's  case,  the  woman  stopped  for  breath. 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  unfortunate  man,"  said  Mr.  Meeker, 
rising  to  go,  "  but  such  is  nay  faith  in  the  power  of  persuasion 
and  gentle  treatment  in  such  cases,  that  I  do  not  doubt  he 
could  be  saved,  if  rightly  managed." 

"  You  should  see  Harry  Ellson  in  one  uv  his  tantrums. 


THE     PEACEFUL    MESSENGER.  1*79 

You  VI  change  yom%  mind,  I  reck'n  !  An  angel  from  heaven 
could  n't  manage  him — 't  any  rate,  his  wife  was  n't  able  to, 
an'  they  said  she  was  as  near  bein'  an  angel  as  most  uv  'em 
that  you  see  now-adays." 

"  And  you  say  you  don't  know,  ma'am,  where  Ellson  is  at 
this  time  ?" 

"  No.  I  hain't  heerd  a  word  on  him  for  more  'n  six  weeks. 
I  think,  though,  he  's  over  to  west-end,"  said  Sarah. 

"  West-end  ?"  asked  Mr.  Meeker,  not  appreciating  this  re 
mark. 

"  Limbo,"  continued  Sarah.  "  Leverett  street — since  the 
old  lock-up  's  tore  down." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  information,  Mrs. 
Barns,"  concluded  Meeker,  "  I  shall  endeavor  to  hunt  him 
up,  and  see  what  /  can  do.  I  would  much  like  to  hear  of 
Carrie  and  Toney,  too.  And  I  will  get  my  wife  to  visit  Mrs. 
Ellson." 

"  She 's  ravin'  crazy,  sir !" 

"  Perhaps  not.    We  shall  see,"  said  Mr.  Meeker,  mildly. 

"  I  hope  you  '11  hev  a  good  time  with  'em,  sir,"  said  Sarah, 
in  a  low  tone,  as  the  goldsmith  departed  at  length. 

And  turning  to  a  little  cupboard,-  as  the  outer  door  closed 
behind  her  visitor,  she  drew  forth  a  black  bottle,  which  she 
placed  to  her  mouth,  for  the  purpose  of  extracting  from  it  a 
drop  of  that  consoling  draft  recommended  by  her  fiiend  St. 
Peter,  who  advised  the  use  of  "a  leetle,  for  the  stomach's 
ache !" 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE     W  ANDERSES. 

Life  is  an  infant,  on  affection's  knee ; 
A  youth,  now,  full  of  hope  and  transient  glee  ; 
In  manhood's  peerless  noon,  now  bright — anon, 
A.  time-worn  ruin,  silvered  o'er  with  years. 

EDWAKD  MOXON. 

THE  boy  Toney  Lad  been  enticed  away  from  the  hospitable 
guardianship  of  the  good  Mr.  Meeker,  and  after  sundry  haps 
and  mishaps,  he  found  himself  over  a  hundred  miles  distant 
from  home,  in  the  interior  of  his  native  State. 

An  honest  farmer  chanced  to  meet  him,  upon  the  road,  as 
he  wandered  along,  and  the  little  fellow  asked  the  stranger  to 
allow  him  to  ride  along  with  him  in  his  wagon.  During  the 
route  toward  his  dwelling,  which  lay  a  mile  down  the  valley, 
Toney  told  him  his  story,  briefly,  and  the  yeoman  took  a  fancy 
to  him. 

"  Go  with  me,"  said  the  man,  "  and  if  you  like,  I  '11  take 
you  and  make  a  man  of  you." 

Toney  was  ready  for  any  thing,  now,  and  this  change,  he 
thought,  would  suit  him.  So  he  said : 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  back  to  Boston,  if  you  please,  sir,  and 
I  '11  be  a  good  boy  if  you  '11  let  me  live  with  you." 

Thus  a  bargain  was  struck,  at  once,  and  the  farmer  wanted 


THE     WANDERERS.  181 

just  such  a  lad  to  "  bring  up,"  for  help  was  scarce  with  him, 
and  the  boy  pleased  his  eye,  exactly.  Toney  was  growing 
rapidly,  and  the  arrangement  seemed  a  good  one.  No  one 
knew  Avhither  he  had  gone,  when  he  left  Mr.  Meeker's  house, 
and  so  he  remained  out  of  the  reach  of  inquiry. 

His  new  master  had  a  good  farm  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Connecticut,  well  stocked  with  horses,  cattle,  sheep,  swine, 
poultry — and,  indeed,  every  thing  that  went  to  make  up  a 
fine  establishment  of  its  class  ;  and  Toney  at  once  became  con 
tented  and  happy  in  his  new  home,  where  his  labor  was  not 
arduous,  and  where  he  had  enough  to  eat  and  to  Avear,  without 
the  asking. 

He  was  but  a  mere  lad,  yet,  however,  not  ten  years  old. 
His  employer  soon  ascertained  that  he  was  ingenious  and  well- 
inclined.  He  sent  him  to  the  district  school,  during  the 
school  seasons,  and  when  at  home  he  was  occupied  about  the 
house  and  farm,  from  time  to  time,  until  he  came  to  be  a 
stout,  well-developed  boy,  who  got  to  be  quite  useful  and 
handy  on  the  place. 

Toney  finally  took  to  studying,  assiduously,  whenever  he 
had  opportunity,  and  he  improved  his  mind  and  stored  his 
brain  with  agricultural  and  chemic*al  knowledge,  which  in 
after  years  proved  of  great  advantage  to  him.  He  arose 
early,  worked  faithfully  when  he  was  at  labor,  looked  sharp 
after  his  employer's  interests,  and  finally  came  to  be  an  excel 
lent  judge  of  the  merits  or  faults  of  live  stock,  while  his  in 
formation  upon  ah1  matters  pertaining  to  horticulture,  agri 
culture,  etc.,  was  practical  and  substantial. 

Here  Toney  remained'  for  a  long  period,  developing  in 
mind  and  body,  constantly  acquiring  a  better  and  more  thor- 


182  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

ough  knowledge  of  the  practical  uses  and  benefits  of  agricul 
tural  employment,  and  never  seeking  for  a  change  of  position. 
He  was  contented,  healthful,  and  happy,  and  his  pecuniary 
prospects,  eventually,  were  quite  satisfactory,  and  quite  com 
mensurate  with  his  modest  ambition. 

He  sometimes  thought  of  his  mother,  whom  he  supposed, 
at  last,  to  be  dead ;  and  he  wondered,  too,  at  times,  if  his  un 
lucky  father  yet  existed.  His  employer's  name  was  Mettler, 
and  Toney,  from  being  at  first  called  "  Mettler's  boy,"  an 
swered  to  the  cognomen,  and  finally  adopted  it  altogether, 
for  preference.  His  friends  were  all  dead,  he  believed,  old 
Mr.  Mettler  was  kind  to  him,  and  he  changed  his  last  name, 
and  was  known  only  as  Toney  Mettler,  thenceforward. 

He  spoke  of  Carrie  often.  But  in  time  all  these  early 
recollections  passed  away,  and  he  applied  himself  to  his  call 
ing  with  energy,  as  time  passed  pleasantly  by  with  him  amid 
his  new  duties. 

In  the  mean  time  the  rag-picker  was  far  away  from  the 
scenes  of  his  earlier  days,  and  Carrie — as  true,  as  confiding,  as 
gentle  as  ever — still  followed  upon  the  aged  wanderer's  foot 
steps. 

This  twain  had  seen  rough  usage  and  harsh  treatment  for 
many  a  weary  month  after  they  left  Boston.  But  Davy  had 
been  faithful  to  his  self-imposed  task,  and  his  darling  charge 
had  been  the  constant  and  unchanging  companion  of  his  pov 
erty,  his  joys,  and  his  sorrows. 

Sickness  had  laid  its  heavy  hand  upon  old  Davy  since  his 
departure,  and  once  he  had  very  closely  approached  the  door 
of  Death.  But  Carrie  was  continuously  at  his  side.  She 
cooled  his  fevered  brow,  and  nursed  him,  and  watched  with 


THE     WANDERERS.  183 

him ;  and  finally,  as  he  grew  better,  she  read  to  him  and 
sung  for  him,  so  softly  and  so  sweetly,  that  he  soon  recovered, 
and  they  went  on  their  way  rejoicing. 

Carrie  studied,  and  old  Davy  had  studied,  too.  He  rubbed 
up  the  mechanical  knowledge  he  had  acquired  in  his  early 
school-days,  but  which  had  lain  dormant  in  his  brain  for 
many,  many  years.  And  he  turned  his  attention  to  art  and 
mechanism,  and  mathematical  calculations,  and  the  appliances 
of  machinery,  and  at  length,  even  in  the  autumn  of  his  life, 
he  became  conversant  with  the  details  of  a  most  useful  prac 
tical  invention.  And  all  for — what  ? 

The  child  had  become  the  idol  of  his  existence.  She  was 
the  only  true  friend  he  had  ever  known.  Every  pulse  of  his 
existence  beat  for  her.  And  for  her  weal,  in  the  present  and 
the  future,  he  relinquished  his  long-followed  occupation,  and 
studied  and  labored,  when  his  pretty  Cariie  slept,  to  support 
and  educate  and  provide  for  the  continuous  happiness  of  the 
delicate  vine  that  had  so  curiously  become  entwined  about  his 
aged  heart. 

Old  Brittan  halted  at  Grenville,  in  the  State  of  Kentucky, 
in  the  vicinity  of  which  he  purchased  a  somewhat  extensive 
plantation,  and  by  the  aid  of  his  friend  Taskem,  who  came 
up  from  Memphis  to  meet  him,  he  was  enabled  to  rearrange 
the  estate,  and  to  make  such  additions  to  the  complement  of 
household  and  field-hands  as  he  desired  for  his  present  pur 
poses.  Having  managed  matters  pretty  much  to  his  liking, 
for  a  commencement,  he  sat  himself  down  to  the  enjoyments 
of  his  entirely  new  sphere  of  life,  about  the  details  of  which 
he  absolutely  knew  nothing  whatever. 

His  nature  fitted  him  admirably  for  a  task-master,  how- 


.184 


THE     RAG-PICKER. 


ever,  had  he  been  qualified  by  experience  for  that  delectable 
occupation.  But,  for  the  duties  of  a  "  proprietor,"  he  had 
no  possible  qualifications,  and  he  soon  ascertained  this  fact. 

He  was  not  only  self-willed,  but  strong-headed  and  wrong- 
headed.  His  money  had  been  invested  (through  Taskem's 
agency)  in  slaves  and  slave-property,  and  he  set  a  bold  face 
against  the  annoyances  and  the  difficulties  of  his  new  posi 
tion,  and  braved  the  consequences  of  fool-hardiness,  and  a 
fatal  pecuniary  mistake. 

Thus  a  few  years  passed  away,  without  serious  change  in 
the  prospects  of  any  of  the  actors  in  our  drama — each  pur 
suing  the  course  that  Fate  seemed  to  have  marked  out  for 
them — quietly,  but  surely  carving  for  themselves,  and  those 
connected  with  them,  the  fortune  that  awaited  them. 

Mrs.  Ellson  pined  in  the  lonely  apartment  of  the  Asylum 
which  she  had  occupied  for  so  long  a  period.  She  had  had 
many  lucid  intervals  during  the  last  two  years,  and,  more 
latterly,  the  physicians  had  been  greatly  encouraged  by  the 
better  manifestations  of  her  case.  The  range  of  the  house 
was  at  last  extended  to  her,  and  she  was  clearly  improving 
in  mind  and  body. 

Her  husband,  after  three  years  more  of  destitution  and 
misery,  had  suddenly  disappeared  altogether,  and  it  was  cur 
rently  believed  that  he  had  committed  suicide. 

The  family  had  been  scattered ;  the  friends  who  had  tem 
porarily  sheltered  the  children,  at  the  time  when  the  mother 
was  removed  from  them,  were  either  dead  or  had  left  the 
city ;  the  circle  was  broken,  and  none  knew  whither  the  other 
had  gone,  or  whether  the  grave  or  the  waters  had  closed  upon 
their  remains. 

Yet  each  had  just  begun  to  live ! 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

ANNIE    ELLSON'S   DREAM. 

The  mind  can  make 

Substance,  and  people  planets  of  its  own 
"With  beings  brighter  than  have  been — and  give 
A  breath  to  forms  which  can  outlive  all  flesh; 

for,  in  itself,  a  thought, 

A  slumbering  thought,  is  capable  of  years, 
And  curdles  a  long  life  into  one  hour ! 

LOKD  BYBOX 

THE  relaxation  of  discipline,  adopted  in  the  case  of  Annie 
Ellson,  was  attended  with  the  happiest  results.  After  a  few 
weeks  she  was  even  permitted  to  range  over  the  grounds  of 
the  Asylum,  without  being  subjected  to  the  customary  sur 
veillance. 

The  glad  sunshine  revived  her,  and  the  warbling  of  the 
songsters,  and  the  beauty  of  the  flowers,  brought  back  to  her 
recollection  the  happy  hours  of  "long  time  ago,"  when  she 
was  as  free  and  joyful  as  the  birds  and  butterflies  that  flitted 
about  her  now,  as  she  wandered  among  the  clumps  of  trees 
in  the  Asylum  gardens. 

At  evening  she  was  permitted  the  solace  of  such  books  as 
she  fancied  occasionally ;  and  the  sacred  volume  was  oftener 
than  otherwise  her  choice,  to  which  she  had  been  wont  to 
turn  for  consolation,  often,  in  other  days,  and  which  now 
proved  to  her  a  source  of  never-failing  comfort.  Her  eye  fell 


1    186 


THE     RAG-PICKER. 


upon  the  Father's  soul-soothing  invitation — "  Come  unto  me, 
all  ye  who  are  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest.  Take  my  yoke  upon  you,  and  learn  of  me ;  for  I  am 
meek  and  lowly  in  heart ;  and  ye  shall  find  rest  unto  your 
souls.  For  my  yoke  is  easy  and  my  burden  is  light."  And, 
"  I,  saith  the  LORD,  will  be  unto  her  a  wall  of  fire  round 
about,  and  will  be  the  glory  in  the  midst  of  her." 

And  thus  consulting  His  word  and  His  promises,  she  be 
came  subdued  and  calm,  and  resigned  with  a  holy  resignation 
to  the  Divine  will,  until  she  blessed  the  Lord  always,  "  And 
desired  of  Him  that  her  ways  might  be  directed,  and  that  all 
her  paths  and  counsels  might  prosper.  For  the  Lord  giveth 
all  good  things,  and  he  humbleth  Avhom  he  will — as  he  will." 

And  then  the  patient  murmured  a  prayer,  and  slept.  And 
Annie  dreamed  again. 

The  long-time  lunatic  mother  fancied  that  she  stood  upon  a 
bright  green  laAvn,  by  the  side  of  a  sheet  of  placid  water,  and 
beyond  her  she  sal*  the  clear  white  streak  of  a  narrow  water 
fall,  as  it  gushed  out  from  the  apex  of  a  high  mass  of  rocks, 
and  shot  down  the  craggy  sides  of  the  hill  like  a  line  of 
snow. 

On  her  right  lay  broad  fields  of  grain  and  waving  com,  and 
further  on  she  beheld  a  sprightly  village,  dotted  with  houses 
and  white  buildings,  with  here  and  there  a  church-spire  taper 
ing  up  heavenward.  The  sun  shone  bright  and  warm  on  the 
scene  before  her,  and  the  lambs  were  gamboling  on  the 
greensward ;  the  birds  were  chanting  their  sonnets  in  the  rich 
grove  upon  her  left,  and  the  sparkling  trout  leaped  from  the 
fair  bosom  of  the  lake  in  front ;  and  all  was  calm,  serene,  and 
heavenly  around  her. 


ANNIE   ELLSON'S   DREAM.  187 

And  then  soft  music  was  heard  within  the  leafy  shelter  of 
the  wood,  and  shortly  afterward  the  melody  increased,  and 
the  atmosphere  seemed  filled  with  angelic  strains  of  harmony. 
And  suddenly  this  died  away  into  a  softened  symphony,  and 
then  a  sweet  familiar  voice  was  heard  above  the  exquisite 
accompaniment — in  a  plaintive  tone : 

Darling  mother !  come  and  bless  us ; 

"We  have  wandered  many  a  day  1 
With  thy  soft  sweet  smile  refresh  us, 
For  we  Ve  roamed  a  weary  way  I 
Come  !  and  cheer  us, 

Mother  dear ! 

Since  the  hour  when  we  were  parted, 
"Winters,  summers,  oft  have  flown ; 
God  has  lent  us  friends,  true-hearted — 
But  our  mother — she  was  gone ! 
Come !  and  bless  us, 

Mother  dear  1 

Autumn's  winds  have  oft  been  blowing, 

Oft  the  lark  has  left  the  lea  ; 
Now  the  Spring-tide 's  softly  flowing, 
And  we  fondly  look  for  thee  ! 
Come  1  and  join  us, 

Mother  dear ! 

It  was  the  voice  of  Carrie  !  her  own  sweet  child,  whom  she 
had  taught  to  sing  from  her  cradle.  And  the  fond  mother 
sprang  forward  to  clasp  the  loved  one  to  her  heart,  after  their 
long  separation,  but  the  singer  was  not  in  sight,  and  a  soft 
chorus  succeeded. 

The  mother,  almost  frantic  with  joy,  advanced  with  more 
cautious  steps,  and  near  the  edge  of  the  grove  she  encountered 
the  figure  of  a  rugged-faced  boy — a  youth  of  seventeen — bear- 


188  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

ing  in  his  arms  a  shock  of  ripened  corn,  who  greeted  her  with 
gushing  joy,  as  he  exclaimed,  "  Mother  !  dear  mother,  behold 
your  son !'" 

She  started  to  embrace  him,  but  the  form  had  vanished. 
She  turned  again,  and  cried,  "  My  children  !  Toney — Carrie  ! 
Whither  ?"  and  a  rustling  near  her  arrested  her  notice  again, 
in  another  quarter.  She  looked,  and,  at  her  feet,  in  suppliant 
attitude,  she  now  beheld  her  husband.  Hemy — the  long-lost 
but  penitent  and  returning  partner  of  her  future ! 

"  Annie,  forgive !"  he  cried,  as  she  fell  weeping  upon  his 
manly  bosom — and  suddenly  aivoke,  to  realize  that  all  had 
been  but  "  fancy's  picture  !" 

The  morning  sun  was  shining  clearly  in  at  her  narrow  win 
dow,  and,  in  this  final  joyful  struggle,  God  had  kindly  removed 
from  her  brain  the  last  trace  of  mental  derangement,  and 
she  saw  with  new  eyes,  she  heard  with  new  ears ;  and  she  of 
fered  up  her  grateful  thanks  to  Him  who  had  thus  given  her 
a  fresh  lease  of  life. 

She  rose  cheerfully,  attired  herself  with  unusual  precision 
and  care,  and,  soon  after  the  breakfast  hour,  she  sent  for  the 
resident  attending  physician. 

"  Good  morning,  doctor,"  said  Annie,  composedly  and 
pleasantly,  "  how  do  I  look  to-day  ?" 

"  Remarkably  improved,  madam,"  said  the  physician,  with 
a  smile.  "  Let  me  see,"  he  added,  taking  her  hand  in  her 
own,  and  carefully  consulting  her  pulse. 

"  Your  late  treatment,  and  out-of-doors  exercise,  have  cer 
tainly  relieved  you.  Your  pulse  is  good,  and  I  am  happy  to 
see  you  so  much  better." 

"  Doctor,"  said  Annie,  "  I  feel  that  I  am  entirely  recovered ; 


ANNIE    ELLSON'S   DREAM.  189 

and  I  am  now  as  well  as  I  ever  was  in  my  life,  though  not  yet 
so  strong  as  I  could  wish  to  feel." 

"  You  are  surely  better." 

"  I  am  well,  doctor — well,  I  assure  you.  My  niind  is  clear, 
my  whole  system  is  rejuvenated,  and  T  know  I  am  at  this  mo 
ment  entirely  recovered." 

"  I  hope  you  may  so  find  it,"  said  the  Doctor,  kindly  ;  "  but 
we  must  not  be  precipitate,  you  know." 

"  You  see  I  am  calm,  doctor.  Question  me.  I  will  reply 
to  you,  and  you  shall  judge  me.  It  is  unnecessary  that  you 
should  inform  me  where  I  am,  or  how  long  I  may  have  been 
here.  I  see  it  all.  I  pray  you,  communicate  with  your  asso 
ciates,  and  permit  me  to  depart  from  this  place  at  an  early 
moment.  Will  you  do  so  ?" 

The  doctor  looked  in  her  eye,  and  could  detect  no  shade  of 
deceit  or  hallucination  there,  and  said : 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure." 

"  When  shall  I  see  you  again  ?" 

"  Within  the  hour,  Mrs.  Ellson,"  he  answered. 

And  five  minutes  afterward  the  Doctor  was  with  the  Super 
intendent,  relating  to  him  the  details  of  this  remarkable  and 
palpably  favorable  change. 


CHAPTEB  XXXI. 

THE     STRANGE     RESTORATION. 

Thou,  God,  wilt  hear!    Thy  pangs  are  meant 
To  heal  the  spirit — uot  destroy. 

STEEUSG. 

MRS.  MEEKER  had  called  upon  Annie  once  or  twice,  at  the 
Asylum,  and  she  found  herself  there,  for  the  third  time,  on 
the  afternoon  of  her  restoration  to  mental  health. 

Her  kind-hearted  husband  had  taken  so  great  an  interest  in 
this  poor  family,  that  she  felt  it  a  pleasant  duty,  at  Mr. 
Meeker's  request,  to  visit  the  wife  and  mother,  whom  she  had 
found  improving  so  rapidly  after  her  first  interview  with  her. 

Annie  related  to  her  sympathetic  friend  the  particulars  of 
her  dream,  which  Mrs.  Meeker  pronounced  curious.  "  But," 
she  added,  "  I  am  greatly  gratified  to  see  that  you  are  so  well 
to-day." 

"  It  is  the  hand  of  God,  Mrs.  Meeker,"  said  Annie,  rever 
ently.  "  My  recovery  has  been  gradual,  and  for  weeks  I  have 
been  rapidly  gaining.  But  my  dream  was  such  a  happy  one  ! 
(3h !  if  I  could  but  feel  that  this  is  the  truthful  forerunner 
of  my  future,  to  some  extent,  how  happy  should  I  be." 

"  Haply  it  may  be  so,"  said  her  friend. 

"  And  so  I  think.     For  this  I  have  long  prayed  in  faith  and 


THE     STRANGE     RESTORATION.  193 

earnestness.      Would  that  God,  in  his  mercy,  might  again 
unite  us,"  she  exclaimed,  with  all  her  heart. 

The  pious  Mrs.  Meeker  fervently  responded  "  Amen !" 
"  I  have  long  been  convinced,"  continued  Annie,  "  that  kin 
dred  spirits,  separated  by  death  or  misfortune,  do  approach 
each  other,  at  times  when  the  bodily  tenements  are  least  an 
ticipating  it.  In  our  dreams,  how  often  do  we  see  the  forms 
of  those  we  love,  who  may  have  been  torn  from  us  by  adver 
sity,  or  who  have  even  passed  from  us  to  the  other  life  ?  How 
often  do  we  seem  to  speak  with  them,  and  communicate  with 
them  thus,  as  clearly  and  as  vividly  as  if  we  stood  beside 
them  here,  in  our  earthly  persons  ?  Have  you  never  thought 
of  this,  Mrs.  Meeker  2" 

"  You  are  right.  In  our  sleep  this  is  common,  I  know." 
"  Why,  then,  may  not  they  be  with  us  when  we  are 
waking  ?  Why  are  not  the  '  spirits  of  the  blest,  made  per 
fect,'  constantly  hovering  about  us,  though  AVC  can  not  see 
them  ?  So  it  seems  to  me,"  continued  Annie,  "  and  I  enter 
tain  no  doubts  tiat  our  absent  earthly  friends  and  relatives, 
who  may  sympathize  with  us,  as  often  thus  meet  us  at  their 
sides,  and  see  and  talk  with  our  spirits,  as  I  surely  did  with 
those  of  my  husband  and  little  ones  last  night.  Do  you  know 
or  hear  of  them,  Mrs.  Meeker  ?"  queried  the  mother  at  this 
juncture.  "  Do  you  hear  of  or  see  my  poor  husband  or  the 
children  ?"  she  repeated,  with  deep  earnestness. 

"  I  can  only  answer  in  reference  to  your  husband,  Mrs.  Ell- 
son.  Of  the  children  we  know  nothing  definite  now." 

"  And  he  is  well,  is  he  not  ?"  inquired  Annie.  "  And  he 
is — that  is — he — he  does  not  give  you  trouble,  does  he  ?"  she 
added,  quickly,  but  nervously. 


192  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  No.  Upon  this  point  I  bring  you  good  news,"  replied 
her  friend. 

"  Thank  God !  Thank  God,  oh,  my  soul !"  exclaimed  Annie, 
fervently.  "  He  is  well,  you  say,  too  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes.  But  you  must  be  calm,  or  we  shall  not  be  al 
lowed  to  speak  with  you  here,  you  know." 

"  Oh !  I  am  calm,  and  I  will  be  calm.  Don't,  I  beseech 
you,  Mrs.  Meeker — do  not  withhold  from  me  any  intelligence 
regarding  Henry  that  I  may  be  permitted  to  know.  Tell  me 
that  he  is  well  and  happy,  and  that  he  has  abandoned  the  only 
fault  of  his  checkered  life.  Tell  me  that  he  has  reformed,  and 
that  I  may  see — see  Henry,  perhaps — again,  some  time  hence 
— not  now !  not  now !  I  '11  wait,  patiently,  and  calmly,  and 
resignedly,  and  will  never  speak  aloud,"  she  added,  lowering 
her  voice  to  a  whisper. 

"He  has  greatly  improved  in  his  condition  of  late,"  re 
plied  Mrs.  Meeker. 

"  And  will  he  come  to  see  me  ?  Will  they  permit  him  to 
come  and — and — speak  to  me — one  word,  do  you  think  ? 
Oh !  try  them,  try  them !  Tell  them  how  strong  I  am,  won't 
you — dear  Mrs.  Meeker  ?  You  see  for  yourself  I  am  strong 
now,  and  could  bear  to — to — see  Henry !  Could  I  not  ?" 

"  By  and  by,  then." 

"When— when?  To-morrow?  Next  day?  When?  Tell 
me  when  I  shall  see  him,  and  I  will  wait — ah  !  you  shall  see 
how  patiently  !  And  I  will  count  the  hours,  minutes,  seconds 
that  shall  pass  ere  I  may  clasp  him  to  my  heart.  Oh  !  my 
kindest  of  friends,  could  you  but  know  how  fondly  we  have 
loved,  how  deeply  he  has  been  wronged,  and  how  kind  he  was 
until — until  his  heart  was  broken  by  his  misfortunes,  you 


THE     STRANGE     RESTORATION.  193 

could  then  imagine  what  this  cruel  separation  costs  us.  I 
beseech  you  bring  him  here.  Am  I  not  well  ?  Say,  am  I  not 
calm  and  rational  ?" 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  communicate  with  your  physicians,  and 
you  can  undoubtedly  see  him  soon." 

"  Does  he  know  I  am  here  "?" 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Mrs.  Meeker.  "  We  have  never  told  him 
this." 

"  Does  he  ask  for  Annie,  then  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  has  sought  you  diligently  of  late,  but  you  have 
been  too  ill  to  see  him  as  yet.  You  are  now  getting  much 
better,  and  he  will  soon  come,  I  am  sure." 

"  Bless  him  !  God  bless  and  prosper  him  !"  said  the  joyful 
wife,  with  her  whole  heart. 

And  very  soon  after  this  Mrs.  Meeker  departed  from  the 
Asylum,  after  repeated  promises  to  the  wife  that  Henry  should 
visit  her  within  a  few  days. 

Upon  consulting  with  the  officers  of  the  institution,  who 
seemed  to  be  satisfied  that  the  woman  was  very  much  im 
proved,  and  that  there  could  be  no  apprehensions  as  to  the 
result,  after  a  proper  delay,  it  was  agreed  that  Mr.  Ellson 
should  be  admitted  to  an  interview  with  his  wife,  in  presence 
of  one  of  the  doctors,  on  the  third  day  following. 

And  Mrs.  Meeker  left  with  a  lightened  heart  and  a  joyful 
countenance,  for  this  decision  rendered  her  very  happy. 

Mrs.  Ellson  had  now  been  a  charity-occupant  of  this  Asylum 
for  over  seven  long  years !  But  she  had  no  idea  at  all  of 

this  fact. 

9 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


THE     DEBTOR     IN     PRISON. 


It  might  be  months,  or  years,  or  days— 

I  kept  no  count  —  I  took  no  note  ; 
I  had  no  hope  my  eyes  to  raise, 

And  clear  them  of  their  dreary  mote  ; 
At  last  men  came  to  set  me  free  ; 

I  asked  not  why,  and  reck'd  not  where  ! 

ER  OF  CHILOX. 


A  FEW  days  prior  to  the  scene  just  recorded,  a  man  whose 
means  were  limited,  but  whose  heart  was  large  enough  to 
contain  a  brother's  sympathy  for  all  the  world  who  were  in 
distress,  found  his  way  to  the  debtor's  department  of  the 
Boston  jail. 

This  man  was  Mr.  Meeker,  the  goldsmith,  who  had  sought 
out  the  object  of  his  present  solicitude,  after  long  inquiry  ;  and 
who  had  learned  that  day,  that  Henry  Ellson  lay  incarcerated 
within  the  stone  walls  of  a  dreary  prison,  upon  an  unsatisfied 
execution  obtained  in  court  against  him  for  an  old  debt,  which 
he  was  utterly  unable  to  pay. 

The  poor  inebriate  had  descended  to  the  very  lowest  ebb  of 
adversity  (by  his  own  reckleness  and  folly,  it  is  true),  and  he 
had  drank  to  the  very  dregs  of  bitter  misery.  But  repentance 
came.  He  found  himself  on  the  verge  of  insanity,  and  his 
worn  out,  frightfully-taxed  constitution  could  bear  up  no 


THE     1)  E  li  T  U  H     IN     PRISON.  195 

longer,  when  his  good  angel  stood  by  him,  even  amid  the 
almost  hopelessness  of  his  crushing  poverty  and  destitution, 
and  bade  him  "  Arise,  and  be  saved !" 

He  obeyed  the  solemn  but  encouraging  summons ;  and, 
though  his  acquired  appetite  for  indulgence  well-nigh  de 
voured  him,  yet  he  was  firm,  unflinching — resolved  to  reform 
or  die  in  the  effort.  Yet  scarcely  had  he  found  himself  upon 
his  feet  (after  learning,  as  he  soon  did,  that  his  family  had 
been  scattered),  ere  a  lynx-eyed  and  rapacious  creditor,  who 
held  an  old  judgment  against  him,  thrust  the  demand  impera 
tively  in  his  face,  and  threatened  him  with  imprisonment  if  it 
were  not  liquidated  forthwith. 

It  was  utterly  out  of  Ellson's  power  to  meet  the  claim,  and 
the  merciless  wretch  threw  him  into  jail,  where  Meeker  found 
him. 

The  "good  Samaritan"  who  thus  chanced  upon  Ellsou,  in 
formed  him  that  he  came  to  consult  with,  and  to  aid  him, 
if  possible ;  and,  after  cautiously  sounding  him  upon  his  views 
and  his  hopes,  he  frankly  informed  him  that  he  knew  some 
thing  of  his  family  and  his  domestic  troubles  ;  and  then  asked 
him  if  he  did  not  desire  to  meet  his  wife  and  children. 

At  this  friendly  mention  of  the  names  of  those  he  had  once 
loved  with  all  a  father's  and  an  affectionate  husband's  devo 
tion,  the  tears  rushed  to  Ellson's  eyes,  and  he  exclaimed : 

"Oh,  sir,  do  you" know  of  them  ?  Do  you  know  my  Annie 
and  her  little  ones  ?  Do  they  yet  live  ?  And  shall  I  ever 
again  be  permitted  to — to — see — and  to  beg  their  forgiveness  ?" 

The  broken  and  contrite  spirit  of  the  sufferer  gratified  his 
friend  for  the  moment,  for  his  humble  manner  was  pregnant 
with  promise. 


196  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  I  do  know  them,"  said  Mr.  Meeker,  "  and  I  know  that 
your  wife  is  still  faithful  and  loving.  But  she  has  suffered 
fearfully  since  you  saw  her  last." 

"  Yes,  yes — it  must  be  so !"  exclaimed  Henry.  "  And  /  did 
it.  /  was  the  cause  of  all  her  woe,  as  well  as  my  own  ruin. 
I  am  guilty — guilty — my  God  !  how  guilty  have  I  been,"  he 
continued,  amid  his  anguish. 

"  Look  up,"  responded  Meeker,  reverently ;  "  there  is  a 
Power  that  rules  our  fate,  rough-hew  it  as  we  will.  The  good 
God  who  controls  us,  and  guides  us,  and  who  chastises  with 
a  loving  hand,  turns  no  deaf  ear  to  the  supplications  of  the 
penitent  prodigal.  Seek  strength  of  HIM,  and  your  steps  will 
be  made  to  walk  in  the  path  that  leads  to  Life  !" 

"  I  can  not  pray,"  murmured  Ellson  ;  "  I  dare  not  ask  for 
giveness  !  His  holy  law  has  been  grievously  outraged,  and  I 
have  sinned  beyond  the  hope  of  pardon  !  My  wife — my  poor 
deserted,  suffering,  heart-crushed  Annie,  and  her  babes  !  Oh  I 
see  them — see  them  for  me.  Tell  her  I  should  fall  dead  at 
her  feet  to  meet  her  now  !  I  can't — I  can  not  look  her  in  the 
face — no,  no,  no  !"  shrieked  the  repentant,  covering  his  fore 
head  in  his  hands,  as  he  wept  like  a  child. 

His  friend  attempted  to  comfort  him  with  soothing  words, 
but  he  cried  aloud  in  his  agony. 

"  Don't  speak  thus  to  me,  sir — I  can't  bear  it — I  can't — I 
can't !  For  years  and  years,  sir,  I  have  been  the  butt  of 
ribaldry,  the  scoff  and  scorn  of  my  fellows.  And  I  have  never 
heard  such  words  as  these  from  mortal  lips — save  hers  !  Oh, 
Mr.  Meeker !  she  was  the  kindest,  the  truest,  the  best  of 
wives !  God's  goodness  never  vouchsafed  a  gentler  being,  to 
soothe  and  smooth  the  sorrows  of  an  erring  husband.  But  I 


THE     DEBTOR    IN     PRISON.  197 

killed  her-— murdered  her,  by  tortures  inconceivable.  And 
she  bore  it  all,  and  never  turned  upon  me — never,  never, 
never !  I  am  cursed  for  this !  I  feel  it,  and  I  would  not 
escape.  It  is  my  doom,  my  righteous,  rightful  doom,  and  I 
deserve  it.  Ay  !  This  ?  A  thousand  times  worse  than  this, 
sir,  for  such  monstrous  treachery  and  brutality  !" 

"  You  have  sinned,  but  you  have  suffered  for  your  short 
comings,"  added  Mr.  Meeker,  mildly.  "The  lesson  thus 
taught  you,  you  may  well  profit  by,  if  you  will." 

"And  do  you — do  you  think,  sir,"  asked  the  poor  man 
meekly,  "  do  you  think  God  can  forgive  such  a  wretch  ?  Will 
He  not — has  He  not  already  turned  me  over  to  the  fangs  of 
the  dark  Fiend,  for  all  this  sin  ?" 

"  Be  comforted,  Ellson.  Trust  in  God.  For  '  His  mercy  is 
great  toward  us,  and  His  loving-kindness  and  truth  endureth 
forever !' "  responded  Mr.  Meeker,  solemnly  and  tenderly. 

"  Oh  !  this  is  gentle  and  godly  advice,"  said  Ellson,  humbly. 
"  But,  Mr.  Meeker,  /  can  not  adopt  it.  /  am  too  great  a 
wretch  to — to — turn  back.  The  shining  door  is  closed 
against  me,  and  I,  the  miserable  being  who,  for  twelve  long 
years,  have  rioted  in  iniquity,  can  not  now  be  saved !  My 
wife  and  children  have  been  ruined,  my  home  destroyed,  my 
name  disgraced,  and  beggary  and  wretchedness  must  be  their 
portion,  and  mine !" 

"  She  does  not  complain,"  began  his  friend. 

"  Ah  !  there  it  is  again  ?  Don't — don't  mention  that,  for 
the  love  of  God !"  he  cried,  in  deep  agony,  "  for  that  is  the 
gall  of  my  bitterness.  She  never  complained !  She  was  all 
gentleness  and  kindness,  and  purity  and  love  ;  and  never  word 
of  reproach  fell  from  my  darling  Annie's  lips,  though  I  crushed 


198  T  II  E     K  A  G  -  P  I  C  K  E  R . 

her  amid  her  meek  and  angel-like  resignation.  But  her 
father  cursed  us — cursed  her,  and  me,  and  our  babes.  A 
father's  curse,  sir,  but  without  reason.  It  followed  us — drove 
her  mad,  and  me  to  destruction  !  And  yet,  for  all  this,"  he 
continued,  more  quietly,  at  last,  "  she  can  never  know,  sir,  how 
fondly  I  loved  her,  when  Satan  did  not  possess  me." 

"  Yet  she  does  know  this,  Ellson ;  and  never  did  woman 
more  truthfully  and  trustfully  appreciate  man's  love,  than 
does  Annie  yours." 

Ellson  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  and  then,  amid  his  fresh 
ening  grief,  he  almost  whispered  : 

"  Do  you  think  so,  my  friend  ?" 

"  I  know  so,  Ellson." 

"  And  do  you  think — it — would — would  be — possible  that 
Annie — my  wife — would  consent — could  consent  to  permit  me, 
once — only  once — to — to  see — that  is,  to  speak  to  her,  and — 
and- — only  one  word,  one  word  ?  No — no — no  !  I  could  n't 
— I  could  n't !  One  glance  of  those  soft,  gentle  eyes,  would 
blast  me  forever — forever  !" 

But  his  friend  comforted  him,  and  assured  him  that  his 
case  was  not  yet  so  desperate  as  he  fancied.  And,  after  an 
hour's  further  conversation,  Mr.  Meeker  calmed  the  sufferer's 
troubled  spirit,  and  brought  him  to  a  rightful  consciousness 
of  his  situation. 

"  But  this  debt,  Mr.  Meeker,  the  claim  for  which  I  am  now 
confined  here.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  meet  it,  you  see. 
It  is  a  just  one — I  owe  it,  and  if  I  live  to  earn  the  means  to 
discharge  it,  I  will  do  so  to  the  last  farthing.  Yet,  here,  sir 
— where  I  have  now  been  confined  for  months,  because  of  my 
utter  inability  to  cancel  it — here,  I  can  do  nothing,  and  my 


THE     DEBTOR    IN     PRISON.  199 

creditor  is  obdurate.  If  I  could  be  released — if  lie  -would  kindly 
suffer  me  to  go  out  of  this  place,  I  would  willingly  toil  to  earn  the 
money  to  pay  him,  principal  and  interest.  I  have  done  wrong, 
sir,  grievously — and,  I  fear,  almost  irretrievably  wrong — but  I 
can  not  but  think  that  this  law  is  a  mistake.  How  can  I 
pay  the  debt  while  I  am  thus  confined  and  crippled  ?" 

"  You  are  right,  Ellson,  on  this  point.  Your  creditor  stands 
clearly  in  his  own  light.  I  say  you  have  erred,  and  because 
you  are  unable  to  pay,  simply,  is  not  a  sufficient  reason  why 
you  should  thus  be  deprived  of  your  liberty,  and  the  oppor 
tunity,  if  you  will,  to  gain  the  means  to  live  and  to  discharge 
this  debt.  This  law  is  a  palpable  and  oppressive  mistake,  as 
you  have  said." 

And  truer  word  was  never  spoken. 

The  requisitions  of  the  statutes  in  reference  to  the  poor 
debtor,  at  that  period,  were  indisputably  a  foul  blot  upon  the 
generally  fair  pages  of  the  Massachusetts  legal  code.  They 
presumed  all  men  to  be  rogues  and  cheats ;  and  the  money 
less  unfortunate  was  placed  on  a  footing  only  with  the  knave 
and  the  robber.  Verily,  the  honest  poor  man  is  the  excep 
tion,  not  the  rule  !  And  better,  far  better,  that  a  hundred 
villains  escape  the  penalty  of  their  unrighteous  offenses,  than 
that  the  first  innocent,  though  poverty-stricken  denizen, 
should  be  subjected  to  the  first  hour  of  imprisonment,  simply 
for  debt!  Since  that  period,  our  debtor's  law  has  been  im 
proved  ;  but,  to-day,  the  unhappy  poor  man  may  be  tempora 
rily  thrust  into  prison,  if  his  poverty  compels  him  to  owe 
what  he  can  not  pay. 

Blot  out — forever  blot  out  this  infamous  rule,  oh  !  ye  wise 
and  humane  law-makers  of  our  enlightened  dav !  Erase  from 


200  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

the  pages  of  your  statute-book,  ye  legislators  of  Massachu 
setts,  every  vestige  of  this  stigma  of  the  barbaric  age.  And 
believe  that  while  the  very  worst  use  you  can  put  a  man  to, 
is  to  hang  him,  so  the  next  worst  (under  any  circumstances), 

18  tO  IMPRISON  HIM  FOR  DEBT  1 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 


A     JOYFUL     MEETING. 


I'll  tell  thee  apart 

Of  the  thoughts  that  start 

To  being,  when  thou  art  nigh ; 
And  thy  beauty,  more  bright 
Than  the  stars'  soft  light, 

Shall  seem  as  a  weft  from  the  sky. 


SUELLET. 


"  Do  you  think  it  '11  do,  doctor  ?"  inquired  the  straight- 
laced  matron  of  the  Asylum,  appealing  to  the  resident  phy 
sician,  in  reference  to  the  finally  proposed  meeting  between 
Ellson  and  his  late  lunatic  wife.  "  Do  you  think  it  '11  answer 
yet  ?" 

"  I  apprehend  no  inconvenience,  or  ill  results,  now,"  re 
sponded  the  doctor,  kindly.  "  Mrs.  Ellson  seems  to  be  in 
good  spirits,  and  though  I  deem  her  case  a  most  remarkable 
one,  yet  I  think  her  mind  is  strong  again,  and  I  know  that 
her  pulse  has  got  to  be  very  regular,  for  I  have  consulted  it 
often  within  a  few  days." 

"  But  you  know  how  they  go  off,  under  such  circumstances 
These  lovers,  and  'specially  love-sick  wimmin,  is  hard  cases 
you  know." 

The  matron  was  a  "  maiden  lady"  of  five-and-fifty.  She 
had  never  been  married,  and  had  been  educated  as  a  profes- 
9* 


202  T  II  E     K  A  (I  -  I'  I  C  K  K  R . 

sional  nurse.  She  was  au  fait  in  lior  calling,  however,  and 
possessed  all  the  "  requisites"  of  a  woman  of  nerve  !  This  is 
the  kind  of  female  employed,  too  often,  at  these  public  estab 
lishments,  the  directors  preferring  "  strong-minded  women," 
decidedly,  to  those  whom  God  has  blessed  with  a  goodly  al 
lowance  of  genuine  woman's  sympathy. 

And  so  the  matron  insisted  that  if  she  had  the  manage 
ment  of  the  case,  she  should  n't  suffer  any  such  thing,  at  pres 
ent  ;  for,  didn't  she  want  the  woman  to  get  thoroughly  well, 
first  ?  Where  was  the  use  of  her  seein'  her  husband,  or  he 
,  a-seein'  her  ?  There  'd  be  a  scene,  of  course  there  would  ! 
Such  a  billin'  and  cooin'  would  follow  the  meetin'  as  was  rare 
in  the  'Sylum,  to  be  sure  ! 

The  matron  not  being  of  a  very  loveable  turn  of  mind  had 
never  been  troubled  either  with  husband  or  lover,  and  conse 
quently,  she  knew  nothing  whatever  of  these  matters  practi 
cally. 

The  doctor  said : 

"  I  see  no  harm  in  it,  Mrs.  Bray.  I  have  given  a  permit 
to  Mr.  Meeker  to  bring  his  friend  here,  to-morrow,  and  I 
shall  be  present  with  them,  at  the  interview.  I  hope  that  Mrs. 
Ellson  will  soon  be  able  to  leave  the  Asylum,  too,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  of  it,  either,  now." 

"  Then  you  '11  see  her  back  ag'in  in  less  'n  a  month,  ten 
times  wuss  'n  ever !"  said  Mrs.  Bray,  stoutly.  "  /  have  no 
doubt  o'  that,  eyther  !" 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  the  doctor,  rising,  and  leaving  Mrs. 
Bray  to  think  the  matter  over  at  her  leisure. 

The  next  day,  the  doctor  having  kindly  and  considerately 
prepared  Annio  for  tho  happiness  that  awaited  her,  the  wife 


A    JOYFUL     MEETING.  203 

arose  from  a  refreshing  night's  sleep,  and  really  thought  that 
she  had  never  felt  better  in  her  life  than  on  this  happy  morn 
ing. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Meeker  had  communicated  with  the 
hitherto  unreasonable  creditor  of  Ellson,  and  after  some  con 
siderable  pro-ing  and  cow-ing,  the  man  concluded  to  allow 
his  poor  debtor  to  leave  the  prison,  with  the  express  under 
standing  that  he  should  "  go  to  work,  at  once,  and  pay  him 
up,  or  he  would  put  him  back  again,  that  was  all" — a  pro 
cess  which  he  might  have  accomplished,  by  the  way,  if  it 
afforded  any  particular  gratification  to  him,  but  which  would 
not  have  helped  the  discharging  of  his  debt,  veiy  suddenly, 
nevertheless. 

Through  the  continued  kindness  of  Mr.  Meeker,  as  soon  as 
Henry  Ellson  left  his  late  confinement,  he  was  provided  with  a 
comfortable  new  suit,  throughout,  and  after  visiting  the  bar 
ber's,  he  appeared  quite  another  sort  of  being.  In  his  plain 
black  dress,  lie  wore  the  air  of  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  gentle 
man  (as  he  always  had  been  while  he  was  himself),  and  full 
of  hope  and  joy,  he  at  last  took  his  friend's  arm,  and  they 
walked  slowly  away  toward  the  dwelling  of  his  long-lost  wife, 
whom  Mr.  Meeker  informed  him  was  in  waiting  to  receive  him. 

Ellson  had  not  yet  been  informed  where  Annie  dwelt, 
though  Mr.  Meeker  had  faithfully  detailed  to  the  husband  the 
particulars  of  her  late  and  her  present  condition.  When  they 
halted  at  last  before  the  gate  that  opened  into  the  Asylum 
yard,  where  Annie  was  still  detained,  he  started,  looked  into 
Mr.  Meeker's  face,  and  said  with  deep  feeling  : 

"  She  is  n't  here,  surely  ?" 

''Yes,  Ellsoii- — -Annie  »'.?  here.     She  ha1*  boon  .in  inmate  of 


204  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

this  institution  for  several  years,  and  was  brought  hither  a 
maniac  when  you  first  missed  her — a  long  period  since.  It 
was  the  best  place  known  for  her,  and  here  she  has  enjoyed 
the  best  possible  care,  accompanied  by  skillful,  and,  fortunately, 
successful  treatment.  Her  case  was  thought  to  be  a  dubious 
one,  however,  at  first,  owing  to  her  sickness  and  thorough 
prostration.  She  has  now  rallied,  and  is  pronounced  by  the 
physicians  to  be  well  once  more.  Thank  God,  then,  Mr.  Ell- 
son,  and  the  liberality  of  those  whom  He  has  in  his  mercy 
influenced  to  found  and  support  such  a  place — a  timely  and 
hopeful  refuge  for  the  unhappy  and  indigent  insane." 

"  You  are  right,  my  fiiend  ;  I  see  the  benefit  of  all  this  wise 
provision." 

"Now,  then,  Ellson,  you  will  soon  meet  your  wife,  whose 
mind  has  been  prepared  for  this  interview.  Bo  calm  and  firm, 
and  do  not  commit  any  act  that  shall  excite  her  nerves.  And 
may  Heaven  bless  and  guard  you  both  in  this  trying  but  joy 
ful  hour  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Meeker,  as  they  entered  the  biiilding 
together. 

Annie  was  sitting  alone  at  a  center-table  in  the  inner  re 
ception-room,  when  the  door  opened  softly,  and  her  friend 
and  kind  physician  came  in. 

"  Mr.  Ellson  is  below,  Annie,"  he  said.  He  will  be  up 
directly.  Do  you  feel  very  calm  and  collected  in  your  mind, 
to-day?" 

"  Never  better,  I  assure  yon,  dear  doctor." 

"  And  you  won't  be  noisy  and  get  excited,  will  you  ?" 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  doctor.  I  am  very  strong  again, 
and  have  schooled  myself  for  this  happy  meeting.  You  see 
I  am  calm  and  rational — eh  ?" 


A    JOYFUL    MEETING.  205 

"That  is  right,  and  I  am  rejoiced  at  your  good  fortune.  Mr. 
Ellson  is  a  fine-looking  man,  and  is  anxious  to  see  you.  I 
will  return  with  him  directly,"  said  the  doctor.  And  descend 
ing  to  the  apartment  below,  he  gave  Ellson  a  few  words  of 
advice  suitable  to  the  affair  of  the  moment,  and,  with  Mr. 
Meeker  and  Ellson,  he  ascended  the  stairs,  opened  the  door, 
and  presented  to  the  wife  her  loved  and  long-absent  husband. 

"Henry  /"  she  screamed,  with  all  the  fervor  of  her  soul. 
And  the  repentant  sprang  forward  and  clasped  her  to  his 
throbbing  heart. 

'•'•Annie  /"  responded  the  husband,  as  the  big  tears  coursed 
freely  down  his  manly  cheeks.  "  Forgive  me,  Annie !  forgive 
the  author  of  all  your  bitter  woe  !" 

And  while  the  husband  and  wife  were  fast  locked  in  each 
other's  arms,  there  were  no  dry  eyes  in  that  apartment. 

"  God  be  praised  for  all  his  tender-mercies  !"  involuntarily 
exclaimed  Mr.  Meeker,  wiping  the  tear-drops  from  his  own 
face. 

"Amen  /"  responded  the  good  doctor,  with  an  earnestness 
that  showed  how  cordially  he  sympathized  with  the  happy 
pair  before  him.  And  a,  deep  silence — 


•  a  silence  fraught  with 


Joy,  too  big  for  human  utterance," 

succeeded,  as  Annie  clung  to  her  Henry's  neck,  while  he  con 
tinued  still  to  press  her  fondly,  again  and  again,  to  his  over 
charged  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

DAYLIGHT     BREAKING. 

But  though  impressions  calm  and  sweet 
Thrill  round  my  heart  a  holy  heat, 

And  I  am  inly  glad — 
The  tear-drop  stands  in  either  eye, 
And  yet,  I  scarce  can  tell  thee  why, 

I 'in  pleased,  and  yet  I'm  sad. 

JlEN'KT  KlRKE  WHITE. 

IN  her  brightest  days,  saving  that  an  unusual  paleness  per 
vaded  her  features,  Annie  Ellson  never  appeared  better,  or 
more  beautiful,  than  she  did  when  Henry  was  thus  presented 
to  her. 

She  was  very  simply  attired,  but  her  pure  white  skin,  her 
blush-tinted  cheeks,  her  well-arranged  dress,  and  her  happy 
expression,  quickly  called  back  to  the  mind  of  Henry  the  joy 
ous  days  of  their  early  love ;  and  the  re-union  was  the  more 
ecstatic  from  the  perfect  frankness  of  Annie,  and  her  utter 
forgetfulness,  seemingly,  of  herself,  anxious  as  she  was,  at  the 
very  outset,  to  remove  from  the  suspicions  of  Henry  every 
trace  possible  that  she  ever  recollected  his  error. 

She  comported  herself  with  extraordinary  dignity  and  pro- 
propriety  throughout  the  trying  scene ;  and,  notwitstanding 
the  stifled  fears  of  both  the  doctor  and  Mr.  Meeker  (who  were 
witnesses  of  the  meeting),  nftev  the  first  gush  of  passion  had 


DAYLIGHT     BREAKING.  20T 

escaped  her  lips,  though,  she  wept  hot  tears  of  glowing  joy, 
she  was  as  calm  and  composed  as  if  her  husband  had  but  just 
returned  to  her  side  after  a  journey.  And  when  the  ebullitions 
of  their  mutual  rapture  had  subsided,  the  doctor,  in  order  to 
aid  them  out  of  this  dilemma  a  little,  suddenly  exclaimed,  in 
the  fullness  of  his  heart — 

"  Bravo  !  bravely  accomplished,  my  dear  Mrs.  Ellson — 
bravely  done  !  Let  me  congratulate  you,"  he  added,  advanc 
ing,  and  seizing  the  hands  of  husband  and  wife.  "  You  are 
safe,  Annie,  and  I  rejoice  again  that  you  have  borne  this  scene 
so  well.  God  is  good,  and  however  assiduous  may  be  our 
efforts  for  the  restoration  of  those  who  are  unfortunately  placed 
under  our  care,  to  His  power  and  beneficence  are  we  indebted 
for  the  realization  of  success." 

"  And  to  Him  be  all  the  glory !"  added  Mr.  Meeker,  im 
pressively,  as  he  cordially  pressed  the  extended  hands  of  his 
new-made  friends. 

The  ordeal  was  a  serious  one,  but  the  Rubicon  was  safely 
passed,  and  the  joy  of  all  the  friends  was  complete. 

"And  now,  Ellson,"  said  Mr.  Meeker,  "I  presume  our 
friend,  the  doctor,  has  prepared  the  discharge  of  Annie, 
agreeably  with  my  suggestions  to  him  a  week  since." 

To  which  query  the  doctor  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  If  you  are  inclined,  then,  we  will  all  return  to  my  house, 
where  Mrs.  Meeker  awaits  us.  There  we  can  arrange  for  the 
future,  at  our  leisure." 

Within  the  succeeding  half  hour  a  carriage  stood  in  readi 
ness  at  the  door  of  the  institution,  to  convey  the  happy  party 
from  its  confines  to  light  and  joy  and  freedom. 

As  soon  ns  th^  necessary  preliminaries  could  be  arranged, 


208  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

they  entered  the  vehicle.  "  To  Front  street,"  said  Mr.  Meeker 
to  the  driver.  And  the  trio  of  friends  departed  for  the  hos 
pitable  home  of  the  goldsmith,  •whom  Providence  seemed  to 
have  thus  mysteriously  placed  upon  the  track  of  the  unlucky 
and  down-trodden  Ellson. 

Mrs.  Meeker  received  them  with  unaffected  satisfaction  and 
delight ;  and  the  partner  of  her  joys  was  extremely  happy,  in 
asmuch  as  he  felt  that  he  had  discharged  his  duty,  and  his 
undertaking  seemed  to  have  been  crowned  with  success. 

A  neatly  furnished  room  was  appropriated  to  the  exclusive 
use  of  the  new  comers,  and  every  thing  that  their  noble  bene 
factors  could  do  to  render  their  situation  quiet  and  pleasant 
and  acceptable  to  Annie  and  Henry,  was  freely  and  liberally 
carried  out. 

Annie  did  not  forget  her  little  ones  in  the  midst  of  her  hap 
piness  by  any  means.  She  soon  plied  Mrs.  Meeker  and  her 
husband  with  a  thousand  pressing  queries  regarding  the  chil 
dren,  their  probable  fate,  and  present  whereabouts ;  and  all 
the  information  it  was  possible  for  them  to  render  they  cheer 
fully  gave. 

Mrs.  Ellson  deeply  regretted  to  learn  of  Dolly's  death,  for 
she  felt  that  she  had  been  under  deep  obligations  to  her  at  a 
time  when  she  had  no  means  to  assist  herself.  But  nothing 
could  be  heard  of  Toney  or  Carrie.  Their  continued  absence 
affected  Annie  sensibly. 

Henry  Ellson  immediately  set  to  work  to  find  some  occupa 
tion  suited  to  his  abilities.  He  had  no  one  to  take  him  by 
the  hand  save  Mr.  Meeker,  and  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  him 
self  and  his  wife  must  of  necessity  soon  become  a  burden  upon 
his  generosity. 


DAYLIGHT     BREAKING.  209 

With  the  goldsmith's  aid  and  influence,  however,  he  shortly 
had  a  goodly  prospect.  And,  making  the  most  of  his  oppor 
tunity,  he  applied  himself  with  assiduity  and  earnestness  to 
redeem  the  reputation  and  time  he  had  so  recklessly  lost ; 
while,  by  his  efforts,  he  might  also  be  enabled  to  earn  a  sub 
sistence,  pay  up  the  pecuniary  obligations  that  embarrassed 
him,  and  at  the  same  time  remunerate  his  faithful  friend 
Meeker  for  the  losses  and  trouble  to  which  he  had  been  sub 
jected  in  his  labor  of  love  toward  himself  and  his. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

THE     THEODOLITE     MAKER. 

This  life,  and  all  that  it  contains,  to  him 
Is  hut  a  tissue  of  illuminous  dreams, 
Fill'd  with  book-wisdom. 

HENEY  TAYLOR. 

OLD  DAVY  devoted  himself,  with  determined  diligence,  to 
the  new  occupation  that  had  taken  possession  of  his  mind ; 
and,  after  close  application  and  perseverance,  at  the  end  of 
two  or  three  years,  he  had  mastered  the  mechanical  intrica 
cies  that  encompassed  the  peculiar  profession  he  had  chosen, 
and  which  had  originally  been  suggested  to  him  by  one  of 
those  trivial  circumstances  that  occasionally  occur  in  life,  but 
which  oftentimes  lead  to  a  development  of  faculties  or  ideas 
that  otherwise  might  rest  dormant  and  forever  unimproved. 

For  a  long  time  after  he  left  the  scene  of  his  early  associa 
tions  in  Boston,  attended  by  his  charming  little  Carrie,  he  had 
followed  his  prior  calling ;  and  in  the  new  field  into  which  he 
introduced  himself,  the  rag-picker  quickly  found  that  he  should 
not  suffer  from  competition,  for  he  was  almost  alone  in  his 
trade. 

This  fact  greatly  encouraged  him ;  and  by  slow  degrees, 
with  Carrie's  assistance,  he  gathered  together  what  was  to 
him  a  valuable  assortment  of  materials  with  which  to  begin 


THE    THEODOLITE     MAKER.  211 

life  again.  He  hired  a  small  shop  upon  the  river  street  of  the 
city  where  he  sojourned,  and  depositing  his  rags  and  junk,  and 
scraps  of  iron  therein,  he  soon  opened  a  small  traffic,  in  his 
way,  which  at  length  increased  to  a  paying  business  once 
more,  for  his  expenses  were  very  trifling. 

Here  he  sat,  as  of  old,  from  day  to  day,  and  after  awhile 
found  that  others  had  embraced  his  original  avocation,  who 
from  time  to  time  came  to  him  to  dispose  of  their  little  wares. 
He  bought  and  sold,  and  bargained  and  bartered,  and  found 
himself  the  master  of  a  few  dollars,  surplus  funds,  at  last. 

Carrie  had  been  at  school  as  constantly  as  possible,  during 
this  period,  but  all  her  leisure  was  passed  in  the  society  of 
Davy,  who  continued  to  love  her  as  warmly  as  ever,  and  who 
did  every  thing  in  his  power  to  render  her  happy. 

One  day,  among  the  contents  of  a  bag  of  iron  and  brass 
scraps  that  he  purchased  casually,  he  discovered  the  remnants 
of  a  small  instrument  of  curious  construction,  such  as  he  had 
never  before  met  with ;  and,  instead  of  throwing  it  aside  with 
the  rest,  he  cleansed  it,  and  sat  down  to  examine  it.  But  at 
that  time  he  could  make  nothing  of  its  construction  or  uses. 

He  thought  it  over,  and  finally  took  it  to  a  skillful  mechanic 
near  his  junk-shop,  of  whom  he  made  inquiries  regarding  its 
character  and  probable  use.  This  young  man  was  an  accom 
plished  artisan,  in  his  way.  He  had  served  his  apprentice 
ship  with  a  theodolite  maker,  and  was  now  in  business  upon 
his  own  account,  and  doing  excellently  well. 

Old  Davy's  manner  toward  this  person  had  always  been 
neighborly  and  respectful,  and  when  he  called  upon  him,  the 
artisan  informed  him  at  once,  that  the  remnant  he  held  in  his 
hand  was  a  portion  of  one  of  the  very  instruments  he  was 


212  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

then  making  for  the  surveying  department  of  a  new  railway, 
about  to  be  laid  out  across  the  State  they  were  in. 

This  interested  Davy,  and  he  sat  down  to  inquire  further 
into  the  matter,  the  uses  of  the  theodolite,  and  the  profit  to  be 
acquired  upon  their  manufacture.  The  replies  he  received 
were  satisfactory,  and  he  returned  to  his  little  shop  again. 

Hero,  at  his  leisure,  he  went  to  Avork  to  unravel  the  me 
chanical  mysteries  that  seemed  to  envelop  this  curious  little 
instrument ;  and  he  procured  such  works  upon  art  and  mathe 
matics  as  subsequently  proved  valuable  to  him  in  his  experi 
ments.  From  time  to  time  he  visited  his  young  friend  again, 
who  quickly  saw  what  old  Davy  was  doing,  and  who  encour 
aged  him,  and  assisted  him,  and  taught  him  many  things  that 
were  necessary  for  him  to  know,  in  order  to  acquit  himself 
creditably  in  the  art  to  which  he  had  thus  suddenly  taken  a 
fancy. 

And  so,  at  the  expiration  of  three  years  of  study  and  appli 
cation,  he  had  mastered  the  rudiments  of  his  novel  profession. 

His  days  were  passed  in  experimenting,  or  in  perfecting  his 
machines,  and  his  evenings — with  the  charming  Carrie  at  his 
side — were  occupied  with  constant  study  of  the  intricacies  of 
art  and  mechanism,  as  applied  to  the  purposes  of  the  compass 
and  the  telescope. 

With  all  his  ripened  energies,  and  the  natural  determination 
of  his  character,  old  Davy  continued  to  labor  and  investigate 
and  practice  the  results  of  his  scientific  acquisitions  for  four  or 
five  years  longer ;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  the  business  of  the 
younger  mechanic  had  become  greatly  extended,  and  he  had 
given  the  old  man  several  of  his  surplus  orders  for  instru 
ments,  which  had  been  constructed  with  curiously  accurate 


THE     THEODOLITE     MAKER.  213 

precision  and  nicety,  until  at  last  the  youthful  tutor  was  con 
strained  magnanimously  to  acknowledge,  that  his  aged  "  ap 
prentice,"  as  he  called  him,  was  his  decided  master  in  the  art ! 

And  this  extraordinary  excellence  had  been  attained  by 
Davy  in  the  midst  of  trying  difficulties  ajid  excessive  poverty. 
Yet  he  was  naturally  a  mechanic ;  and  even  in  his  declining 
years,  he  suddenly  found  that  there  was  something  for  him  to 
toil  and  study  for.  The  child  whom  God  had  placed  in  his 
charge  was  growing  to  be  a  woman.  Her  charms  and  her 
faculties  were  daily  developing,  and  her  wants  were  increasing. 
For  her  he  labored,  for  her  happiness  and  weal  he  burned  the 
midnight  lamp,  and  for  her  present  and  future  good  did  Davy 
cheerfully  and  continuously  submit  to  privations,  hard  toil, 
and  personal  sacrifices,  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  rear  and 
educate  his  lovely  protegee  prosperously,  virtuously,  and  in  the 
fear  of  the  good  God  who  had  given  him  this  jewel  to  glad 
den  him  in  his  old  age. 

Carrie  Ellson  continued  to  improve  in  beauty,  and  Davy 
had  long  since  been  able  to  provide  her  with  an  excellent 
home.  He  had  furnished  her  with  accomplished  instructors, 
too,  and  she  proved  an  apt  scholar.  And  finally,  she  had 
attained  her  fifteenth  birth-day,  and,  with  well-developed  fac 
ulties  and  constantly  improving  graces — as  happy  as  she  well 
could  be — the  former  straggling  homeless  child,  now  sur 
rounded  with  comforts,  approached  to  glorious  womanhood. 

Davy  gazed  upon  his  beautiful  charge  with  all  a  father's 
pride,  although  he  had  never  been  a  father.  He  watched 
her  budding  charms  with  a  commendably  proud  conscious 
ness  that  he  had  been  instrumental,  in  the  hands  of  Provi 
dence,  in  bringing  about  the  result  before  him. 


214  T  II  K     K  A  G  -  P  I  C  K  K  K  . 

And  when  he  reflected  how  faithful,  how  submissive,  how 
humble,  how  constant  Carrie  had  ever  been — amid  destitution 
and  want,  and  misfortune,  which  even  he  had  at  times  been 
scarcely  able  to  bear — he  marveled  at  her  and  at  himself 
that  she  thus  stood  before  him  in  all  the  honesty  and  inno 
cence  and  loveliness  of  woman's  purity  ! 

He  looked  and  wondered,  but  remembered  his  Master's 
promise — "  And  Avhosoever  shall  give  to  drink  unto  one  of 
these  little  ones  a  cup  of  cold  water,  only — verily,  I  say  unto 
you,  he  shall  in  no  wise  lose  Ms  reward." 

And  Davy  was  contented,  prosperous,  happy 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

N  A  P  P  O     D  U  R  O  C . 

'T  is  something — in  a  dearth  of  fame — 

Though  link'd  among  a  fettered  race, 
To  feel,  at  least,  a  patriot's  shame, 

E'en  as  I  sing,  suffuse  my  face ! 

BYEON. 

ONE  of  the  most  striking  peculiarities  that  meets  the  ob 
servation  of  the  traveler  or  the  sojounier  in  our  Southern 
borders,  is  the  unaffected  and  universal  hospitality  of  the  resi 
dents  there  upon  all  occasions. 

The  writer  having  passed  many  a  month  among  the  people 
of  several  of  our  slave-holding  States,  and  having  enjoyed 
the  pleasures  and  the  generous  treatment  extended  to  stran 
gers,  •with  an  open  hand,  among  the  inhabitants  (where  the 
laws  of  the  land,  unfortunately,  deprive  a  portion  of  God's 
people  of  the  equity  accorded  to  them  by  evsry  principle  of 
right  and  justice),  feels  in  duty  bound  to  speak  in  terms  of 
personal  gratitude  of  the  men  whose  impulses  are  so  frank 
and  cordial,  and  kindly,  toward  "  the  stranger  within  their 
gates."  Would  to  God  that  this  noble  evidence  that  their 
hearts  are  not  altogether  of  flint,  might  be  exhibited  more  in 
detail ;  and  that  they  could  be  brought  to  realize  the  solemn 
truth  in  Holy  Writ,  that  "  Of  one  blood  has  GOD  made  all 
the  nations,  to  dwell  on  all  the  face  of  the  earth !" 

In  the  State  of  Kentucky  the  traveler  will  rarely  find  a 


216  T  H  E     R  A  O  -  r  t  C  K  E  R . 

dwelling  closed  by  night  or  day.  The  liberality  of  her  people 
is  justly  proverbial,  and  the  wanderer  within  her  borders  can 
not  fail  to  be  graciously  impressed  with  the  uniform  civility 
and  cordial  treatment  of  which  he  is  made  the  recipient,  con 
stantly,  as  he  journeys  from  place  to  place. 

To  this  State,  with  all  his  prejudices,  his  animosities,  his 
errors,  and  his  obduracy  of  heart,  did  Anthony  Brittan  re 
pair,  upon  quitting  New  England,  to  eke  out  the  remainder 
of  his  days  in  the  gratification  of  his  miserably-developed  dis 
position  to  tyrannize  over  his  supposed  inferiors. 

Julie  Manning,  his  beautiful  ward,  was  with  him  there,  and 
as  far  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  love  any  thing,  he  loved 
and  petted  his  orphan  charge.  And  as  Julie  grew  prettier 
and  more  deserving  of  his  love,  he  grew  to  esteem  her  (in  his 
way)  better  and  better,  until  this  erratic  man  called  her  his 
"  little  one,"  his  "  darling,"  and  finally  his  "  daughter." 

Julie  improved  as  she  advanced  in  years.  She  was  kind 
and  faithful  to  her  protector,  and  strove  to  render  his  new- 
home  a  happy  one  continually.  But  she  soon  got  to  be  dis 
contented  with  her  own  position,  and  the  associations  that 
surrounded  her,  for  she  had  been  born  in  a  free  land ;  in  her 
early  education  she  had  been  taught  to  "  fear  God  and  to 
love  her  brother ;"  and  she  was  ill  at  ease  among  the  serfs 
that  constituted  her  guardian's  household. 

Brittan  had  invested  her  patrimony  in  slaves.  He  had 
gone  as  far  South  as  he  thought  it  prudent  to  go,  for  his 
own  reasons.  In  Kentucky,  the  beauteous  "  system"  was  not 
carried  to  its  fullest  extent,  and  Brittan  could  not  possibly 
get  over  his  predilections  in  favor  of  residing  (himself)  in  as 
close  contiguity  as  convenient  to  free  States  and  free  laws ! 


X  A  P  P  O     DUUOC.  217 

Brittan  was  a  curious  paradox,  but  withal  he  was  heartless, 
ignorant,  selfish,  and  naturally  a  tyrant.  Taskem  came  to  see 
him  often,  and  procured  "  hands"  for  him,  whenever  he  wanted 
them.  Much  of  the  time  of  this  miserable  huckster  in  hu 
man  beings  was  passed  at  Brittan's  estate,  and  the  twain  be 
came  veiy  intimate,  finally.  One  day  the  Tennessee  man 
came  upon  Brittan  suddenly,  and  rather  unexpectedly. 

"  How  are  yer  ?"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  entered  the  house,  at 
Grenville.  "  I  Ve  got  him,  at  last" 

"  Have  you  ?"  responded  Brittan,  well  pleased  with  the  an 
nouncement,  for  he  had  commissioned  Taskem  to  purchase 
Naf)po,  if  possible,  the  latter  having  sold  Brittan's  old  servant 
immediately  upon  his  return  with  him  to  Memphis,  subse 
quently  to  the  recovery  of  this  piece  of  "  property"  in  Boston. 

"  So  you  Ve  found  him  ?"  said  Brittan,  "  eh  2" 

"  Yes.  It  took  a  heap  o'  money  to  buy  him  back,  though," 
replied  Taskem,  as  usual,  preparing  Brittan's  mind  a  little, 
previously  to  swindling  him  in  the  price ;  a  trick  which  the 
huckster  performed  regularly  whenever  he  furnished  Brittan 
with  an  additional  hand. 

"  Well,  Taskem,  as  I  Ve  always  told  you,  I  cared  nothing 
about  that.  I  want  that  boy,  and  I  'm  willing  to  pay  for  him ; 
that 's  all.  How  much  ?— eh  ?" 

"  Well,  he  's  smarter  'n  lightnin',  that  Nappo.  I  sold  him 
when  I  got  back  from  that  cussed  Puritan  hole,  Boston,  for 
eight  hunder'd  dollars.  But  he  could  do  every  thing — any 
thing,  as  it  turned  out,  an'  his  new  master  soon  found  this 
out,  yer  see.  Wen  I  wanted  him  ag'in,  he  would  n't  sell. 
I  Ve  been  a  tryin'  fer  'im  these  two  year  'n  more.  'T  last, 
he  got  a  little  lame,  an'  his  owner  gin  him  up." 

10 


218  THE     HAG-TICKER. 

"  Good  !     At  how  much  F 

"  I  thouglit  yer  wanted  him,  enny  how,  an'  though  I  can 
git  more  fer  'im,  I  shall  put  him  to  yor  at  jest  his  cost  and 
freight  up  river,  yere ;  seventeen  hundred  and  forty  dollars," 
said  Taskein,  without  wincing. 

He  had  bought  Nappo  back,  at  auction,  in  Natchez,  five 
weeks  before,  for  three  hundred  and  fifteen  dollars !  But  this 
was  only  one  out  of  many  similar  "good  bargains"  that  Task- 
em  had  "  accommodated"  Brittan  with,  after  he  reached  Ken 
tucky  ! 

Nappo  had  lived  too  long  in  Massachusetts  to  submit 
tamely  to  the  yoke  and  scourge  together,  upon  his  return  to 
bondage,  and  he  had  proved  a  most  unprofitable  servant  to 
the  parties  to  whom  he  had  been  sold  in  the  last  few  years. 
Taskem  kept  his  eye  on  him,  however,  in  the  hope  that  he 
would  improve,  so  that  he  could  make  something  handsome 
by  his  subsequent  purchase  of  him.  But  the  boy  grew  worse, 
instead  of  better,  and  at  length  Taskem  snapped  him  up  at  a 
venture,  with  a  view  of  disposing  of  him  to  his  old  master, 
Brittan. 

But  Nappo  hated  both  Taskem  and  Brittan  with  a  supreme 
hatred.  He  was  sufficiently  intelligent  to  see,  at  the  outset, 
that  they  had  connived  together  to  force  him  back  into  sla 
very,  for  he  felt  certain  that  if  his  former  master  in  Massa 
chusetts  had  been  so  disposed,  he  could  easily  have  saved  him. 
He  had  secretly  sworn  that  he  would  be  avenged  upon  the 
slave-hunter  at  some  time  or  other;  but  Taskem  did  not 
know  or  care  for  this.  As  to  Brittan,  he  had  forgotten  the 
t>art  he  had  taken  in  the  matter  originally.  But  Nappo, 
though  he  might  forgive,  aid  not  for  get  his  injuries. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

U  R  I  T  T  A  N  '  S     KENTUCKY     HOME. 

The  law  by  which  God  governs  the  universe  is  a  law  of  progress      *     *     * 
Slavery  is  sectional ;  liberty  is  NATIONAL  !— EOBEET  KANIOTJL,  JR. 

NAPPO,  with  the  memory  of  his  wrongs  keenly  upon  him, 
became  desperate,  fractious,  unruly,  and  difficult  to  manage. 
He  created  disturbance  and  mutiny  among  his  slave  associates 
wherever  he  went.  He  was  whipped,  and  starved,  and  bruised, 
and  maltreated ;  but  all  this  made  him  worse  and  worse, 
imtil  his  reputation  came  to  be  such  that  nobody  would  buy 
him  to  retain  him  in  their  service. 

Taskem  took  care  not  to  allude  to  all  this  in  Brittan's  pres 
ence,  however,  though  he  was  well  advised  of  it. 

"  Lame,  did  you  say  ?"  queried  Brittan. 

"  Yes,  slightly — none  to  hurt,  though,  I  reckon,"  said 
Taskem,  deceitfully. 

"  How  came  it  ?     Is  it  permanent  ?" 

"  Nuthin'  o'  the  kind.  Yer  see,  w'ile  yer  had  the  boy  up 
in  the  Bay  State,  yer  let  him  run  to  his  own  head  ;  an'  w'en 
he  came  back,  he  did  n't  know  edzactly  w'at  he  'd  got  to  do. 
So  they  larrup'd  him  a  little — -jess  for  exercise  like,  an'  his 
own  good,  yer  see — nuthin'  more — an'  he  soon  comes  to  his 
senses.  But  he  tried  his  old  trick  o'  runnin'  away,  a  year  ago, 


220  T  II  E     K  A  G  -  I'  i  C  K  K  It . 

and  fell  off  the  levee  on  to  the  edge  of  a  sunk  flat-boat,  an' 
hurt  his  ankle.  It  '11  soon  be  all  right  ag'in,  hows'ever,  an' 
yer  can  manage  him  better  'n  any  body  else,  'cause  yer  know 
him  through  and  through,  yer  see,"  continued  Taskem,  stop 
ping  to  take  breath. 

"  Oh,  as  to  the  managing  part,"  said  Brittan,  haughtily, 
"  I  rll  take  care  o  that.  He  's  as  'fraid  of  me  as  if  I  were 
the  devil  himself.  I  '11  see  to  all  that.  And  if  he  's  obstrep 
erous  with  me,  I  '11  break  every  bone  in  his  infernal  black  skin, 
do  you  mind  ?"  concluded  Brittan,  indignantly. 

"  So  yer  can,"  said  Taskern.  "  There  's  no  law  agin  that, 
yere.  Yer  could  n't  do  that,  yer  see,  in  the  country  where 
yer  came  from,  eh  ?  Not  by  no  means.  But  yer  ken  do  it 
'ere,  an'  no  questions'  asked.  And  that 's  one  o'  the  beauties 
of  the  "  system,"  too — arn't  it  ?  All  it  wants  is  pluck — that 's 
all !  Some  of  our  proprietors  is  mealy-mouthed,  and  indulg 
ent,  and  scared  at  a  ugly  nigger.  Gi'  me  the  man  as  can 
stand  up  to  his  rights — the  rights  that  the  law  gives  us,  an' 
no  bau'king !  Such  a  man  as  Lewis,  fer  instance,  ef  occa 
sion  calls  for  it." 

"  Lewis  ?"  said  Brittan,  "  who  's  he  f " 

"  "W'y,  Jefferson's  nephy." 

"  I  don't  remember,"  said  Brittan,  again. 

"  Wai,  he  lived  yere  in  Kaintucky,  an'  he  hed  a  nigger 
that  smashed  a  mug  or  vase,  or  somethin'  o'  that  sort ;  an' 
so  Lewis  took  an'  locked  up  all  his  niggers  in  one  room,  at 
night,  an'  told  'em — '  Now,'  sez  he,  '  boys,  look  yer !  Tom 's 
bin  a  smasliin'  glassware,  an'  I  'm  goiif  to  make  a  ''sample 
uv  him  fer  the  benefit  uv  the  rest  uv  yer,  ef  yer  ain't  keerful.' 
A.U'  Lewis  jess  took  and  tied  Tom  to  a  block,  in  the  middle 


u  KIT  TAN'S   KENTUCKY   HOME.  221 

o7  the  floor,  an'  chopped  him  to  death  with  a  ax — a  sharp 
ax,  I  s'poze  it  was — an'  throw'd  the  pieces  uv  'im  into  the 
fire,  afore  the  other  niggers'  eyes  !" 

"  Whew  !"  exclaimed  Brittan.  "  Well,  that  was  rather  too 
savage.  I  could  n't  do  that  /" 

"  Could  n't  ?  W'y,  p'raps  you  won't  hev  to  do  it,"  said 
Taskem,  mechanically.  "  But  I  tell  yer  there 's  nuthin  like 
pluck — nuth'n." 

"  Where  is  Nappo,  now  ?"  queried  the  Englishman. 

"  In  the  jail,  close  by." 

"  In  jail  ?— what  for  ?" 

"  Oh,  nuth'n.  That 's  where  we  allers  put  'em,  yer  know, 
when  we  get  'em  so  fur  north  as  this.  That  is,  /  allers  do, 
fer  safe  keepin'." 

"  Well,  I  will  give  you  your  price  for  Nappo." 

"All  right,  Brittan.  I'll  hev  him  'ere  to-night,"  said 
Taskem  ;  and  he  retired  to  get  the  property,  which  was  rather 
troublesome  to  him,  and  which  he  was  anxious  to  get  rid  of. 

Nappo's  lameness  was  the  result  of  a  broken  limb.  A 
former  master,  in  Louisania,  had  had  him  seized  up  for  some 
trifling  offense,  and  had  set  another  stout  negro  to  flaying 
him  for  his  misdemeanor.  Nappo  broke  away,  and  after 
ward  crushed  the  jaw  of  the  slave  who  had  whipped  him. 
During  the  melee  he  had  been  thrown  down  a  flight  of  stairs, 
where  he  broke  his  leg.  This  owner  immediately  afterward 
got  rid  of  him.  He  Avas  very  soon  sold  again,  however,  and 
again  and  again.  No  one  could  manage  him.  And  lastly, 
Taskem  purchased  him  at  "  public  vendue,"  and  Brittan  be 
came  his  fortunate  owner,  at  seventeen  hundred  round  dollars. 

This — this  in  our  boasted  "  land  of  freedom  !"     The  Lewis 


J22  THE     KAG-PICKER. 

affair,  hinted  at  by  Taskem,  is  a  matter  of  history.  And 
there  exists  in  America,  men — that  is  to  say,  beings — human 
beings,  whom  God  has  blessed  with  common  intelligence — 
who  justify  their  fellow-men  in  thus  oppressing  and  crushing 
out  the  hopes,  the  very  lives,  of  their  darker-skinned  brothers. 

In  certain  places  a  resort  is  had,  with  perfect  impunity, 
to  the  vilest  and  extremest  tortures  to  "  break  in"  the  refrac 
tory  unfortunates  that  fall  beneath  the  ban  of  the  slaveholder. 
And  the  free  North  and  Northern  men  exclaim,  regarding 
slavery,  "  It  is  the  law — we  will  acquiesce"  While  the  cring 
ing,  fawning,  lying  sycophants,  who  live  by  the  bread  of  poli 
tics,  back  up  this  sentiment  (for  office)  and  tell  us  that  this 
is  the  criterion  by  which  we  may  judge  of  their  "  national" 
democracy  ! 

God  be  praised  that  the  day  for  the  belief  in  such  cant  and 
hypocrisy,  such  injustice  and  ignoble  deceit,  such  base  and 
flagitious  sentiments,  is  rapidly  passing  away,  and  that  the 
American  PEOPLE,  as  a  great  and  powerful  nation,  are  setting 
their  faces  like  a  flint  against  this  accursed  system  of  bru 
tality,  and  its  defenders. 

Let  the  Church  of  Christ  arise  in  its  might  and  power  to 
maintain  and  support  the  action  of  the  great  mass  that  is 
moving  in  opposition  to  this  curse  of  our  fair  land  !  Let  the 
ministers  of  the  Holy  Gospel  stand  up  like  the  prophets  of 
old,  and  "  cry  aloud,  and  spare  not,"  until  our  country  shall, 
in  reality,  BE  FEEE — until,  throughout  all  this  land,  in  deed 
as  truly  as  in  words,  "Liberty  shall  be  national i ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A     QUESTIONABLE     INVESTMENT. 

Oh !  who  so  base  as  not  to  feel 

The  pride  of  freedom  once  enjoyed — 
Though  hostile  gold,  or  hostile  steel, 

Have  long  that  bliss  destroyed  ? 

JOANXA  BAILLIE. 

"  KNOCK  him  down !"  shouted  a  stranger. 

"  Wot 's  the  use  ?  He  '11  pick  himself  up  faster  'n  ten  men 
could  knock  him  down,  dam  'im  !"  cried  another  individual, 
roughly,  in  reply.  "  Don't  mark  him,  though.  I  don't  want 
him  hurt,  yer  see,  'cause  I  Ve  sold  him,  and  the  proprietor 's 
pertick'lar.  There  !  that  '11  do  better.  Choice  him.  That  '11 
do.  They  can't  see  the  marks  o'  that,  down  so  low.  That 's 
it.  Now  hold  hard,  and  I  '11  put  these  ruffles  on  his  wrists." 

Between  the  two  men,  and  struggling  fiercely,  not  to  get 
away,  but  apparently  to  get  at  the  second  speaker,  could  be 
seen  a  large  brawny-armed  negro,  who  halted  along  as  he 
struggled,  and  showed  a  lameness  in  one  of  his  legs.  It  was 
our  old  acquaintance  Nappo,  whom  Taskem  had  released  from 
the  jail,  and  whom  he  had  provoked,  in  some  way,  as  the  slave 
came  out  of  his  prison-house. 

"  Now,  come  along !"  bellowed  Taskem,  threateningly. 
"  Wot  the  devil  do  yer  suppose  /  care  about  w'ether  yer  like 


224  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

him  or  no  ?  I  've  sold  yer  to  him,  an'  I  hope  he  '11  mash  yer 
infernal  black  head  in  for  yer,  after  yer  out  my  hands.  That 's 
all  the  good  /  wish  for  yer,  yer  ungrateful  devil's  imp." 

Nappo  did  not  utter  a  \vord.  The  Philistines  were  upon 
him — a  score  of  white  men  having  come  to  Taskern's  aid — 
and  he  was  silent,  and  moved  away  at  last  between  his  two 
rough  keepers. 

Nappo  had  learned  some  other  matters,  while  he  was  living 
in  free  Massachusetts,  which  he  had  not  forgotten,  and  which 
he  had  experienced  the  full  force  of  after  his  return  to  Ten 
nessee  ;  and  among  these  was  the  fact,  that  under  no  circum 
stances,  however  greatly  a  negro  may  have  been  outraged,  or 
maimed,  or  brutalized,  he  can  not  (nor  can  any  slave  for  him), 
be  a  witness  in  any  court  of  justice  in  any  action  against  his 
white  master. 

Therefore,  while  he  might  be  beaten  and  cuffed  and  strangled 

7  O  O 

by  Taskem,  he  knew  that  there  was  no  redress  for  him  legally  ; 
and,  as  he  had  no  command  over  his  passions,  he  turned  upon 
the  slave-catcher  with  the  intention  of  carrying  out  his  prior 
promise  to  be  "  even  wid  him,  some  day  or  'nudder." 

As  is  usually  the  case,  however,  poor  Nappo  came  oft' 
"second  best."  He  was  rudely  handled,  hand-cuffed,  and 
driven  along  toward  the  residence  of  Brittan,  whom  he  de 
spised  beyond  measure  for  his  duplicity  and  treachery  toward 
him  on  a  former  occasion. 

"  I  Ve  handed  him  to  the  overseer  in  the  yard,"  said 
Taskem,  when  he  entered  Brittan's  house  at  length,  imme 
diately  upon  arriving  there;  "an'  I  told  him  what  he  might 
calkilate  on  ef  he  did  n't  go  strait.  He 's  got  an  idea  into  his 
head  that  he  'd  rather  work  on  a  sugar  plantation  than  come 


A     QUESTIONABLE     INVESTMENT.  225 

up  yere  'mong  the  terbackeY.  But  he  '11  come  round  all  right, 
and  yer  '11  find  him  a  tip-top  hand,  I  Ve  no  manner  o'  doubt. 
Yes,  thank  'ee  ;  that's  right,"  continued  Taskem,  counting  the 
money. 

"  An'  yer  say  yer  Ve  got  'nuff  ov  'em,  now  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Brittan,  "  for  the  present." 

"  There  's  a  gal  down 't  St.  Louis  'at  I  can  get — a  nice  one, 
as  washes  well,  does  up  musl'ns,  braids,  works  'broidery  an' 
hair,  and  is  smart  and  strong,  ef  the  young  lady  here  would 
like  such  a  one,"  added  Taskem,  insinuatingly,  alluding  to 
Brittan's  ward. 

It  was  a  good  suggestion  (for  Taskem) !  And  Brittan  told 
him,  when  he  came  up  the  river  again,  he  might  fetch  her 
along.  The  slave-hunter  departed  that  evening,  leaving  Nappo 
behind  him. 

Brittan  sent  for  Nappo  to  come  to  him.  After  some  delay 
the  poor  fellow  entered  the  house,  and  stood  in  presence  of  his 
tyrant-master,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  many  a  year. 
Nappo  had  grown  to  be  a  stout  man,  and  he  was  now  nearly 
five-and-thirty  years  of  age. 

"  Well,  Nappo,"  said  Brittan,  with  a  hypocritical  attempt  at 
being  civil,  "  how  do  you  like  your  new  situation,  eh  ?" 

Nappo  made  no  answer. 

"  Arn't  you  glad  to  get  back  with  your  old  master,  Nappo  ?" 

"  No  !"  said  the  slave,  sulkily. 

"  No  .*"  continued  Brittan.  "  Why  I  'm  astonished  !  Did  n't 
I  always  treat  you  Avell  ?" 

"  No  !"  said  Nappo,  firmly. 

"  When  did  n't  I  treat  you  well  ?" 

"  Never  !"  persisted  Nappo. 

10* 


226  T  H  E     K  A  G  -  1'  I  ( '  K  E  It . 

"  Why,  so  help  me  God,  you  're  the  ungratefullest,  blackest, 
miserablest  devil  it  was  ever  ray  misfortune  to  come  across  in 
the  whole  course  o'  my  life  !  What  d'  you  mean,  Nappo  ?" 

"  I  mean,  Massa  Brittan,"  said  Nappo,  raising  his  head  arid 
his  hand  at  the  same  moment,  "  I  mean  dat  w'en  you  could 
hab  saved  Nappo  you  did  n't ;  dass  all.  An'  for  dat — for  dat, 
Massa  Brittan,  God  a'mighty  nebber  '11  forgib  yer,  an'  I  won't 
nudder,  ef  he  do,  any  how — dass  a  fact !" 

"Why  you  ungrateful  black-a-moor,"  exclaimed  Brittan, 
warming  up  as  he  spoke,  "  did  n't  I  keep  you  thirteen  years  in 
my  house,  and  pay  you — pay  you  wages  ?" 

"  Yis,  an'  I  arnt  my  money." 

"  Shut  up  your  mouth  !  I  fed  and  clothed  you ;  and  I  Ve 
bought  you,  now,  to  treat  you  well,  if  you  deserve  it.  If  you 
don't,  I'll  make  you  do  it,  that's  all — remember.  I'll  flog 
you  within  an  inch  of  your  life.  I  '11  pay  you  off  for  all  your 
old  tricks  on  me,  you  black  thief!  I  '11  have  you  scored  and 
thrashed  till  you  '  come  to  your  milk,'  if  you  show  any  sulks 
to  me  !  And  I  '11  let  you  know  that  you  can't  come  none  of 
your  insolence  and  dam  nigger  nonsense  here,  do  you  mind  !" 

"  Yer  can  whip  me,  sah.  De  law  lets  you  do  dat,  and 
dere  's  no  'pealing  here." 

"  Appeal  ?  I  '11  peel  the  skin  off  your  back  !" 

"  So  you  can,  sah." 

"  And  put  you  in — in — pickle,  afterward  !" 

"  Wai,  an'  I  won't  holler,  nudder — see  'f  I  do,  sah.  I  may 
die,  but  ef  I  don't,  de  man  dat  strikes  de  blows  muss  look  out 
for  hisself,  dass  all !"  said  Nappo,  calmly . 

Brittan  looked  at  the  stalwart  negro,  who  stood  fully  six- 
feet-two  in  his  shoes,  and  he  saw  that  he  was  a  very  different 


A     QUESTIONABLE     INVESTMENT.  227 

sort  of  "  animal"  to  what  lie  had  been,  and  what  he  expected 
to  find  him.  And  he  began  to  wish  that  he  had  his  seven 
teen  hundred  and  forty  dollars  back  again  in  his  pocket,  and 
that  Nappo  was  seventeen  hundred  and  forty  miles  distant 
from  him  at  the  least ! 

However,  it  would  not  answer  for  Anthony  Brittan — the 
lordly,  aristocratic,  bull-headed  proprietor  of  a  Kentucky  plan 
tation,  and  nearly  fifty  negroes,  to  show  the  white  feather. 

So  he  said,  as  firmly  as  he  could — for  he  really  did  not  like 
the  glistening  in  Nappo's  eye — "  Go  to  work,  then,  Nappo. 
Beck  '11  direct  you.  And  nobody  '11  abuse  you  if  you  're  civil." 

"  I  don't  cal'late  dey  will,"  said  Nappo,  retiring,  and  evi 
dently  determined  in  his  own  heart  upon  some  desperate 
move  at  an  early  opportunity ! 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

THE     CATASTROPHE. 

What  ruin  glares!  What  carnage  swims! 

AVretches,  who,  wading— half  in  lire 
From  the  toss'd  brands  that  round  them  fly— 

'Twixt  flood  and  flame  in  shrieks  expire 

MOORE. 

ABOUT  a  year  after  Toney  Ellson  (or  rather  Mettler)  had 
begun  to  take  the  lead  on  Mr.  Mettler's  farm,  his  benefactor 
suddenly  took  sick,  and  died  in  a  very  few  days  thereafter. 
The  property  was  soon  disposed  of,  on  account  of  the  quarrels 
of  the  heirs,  and  Toney  found  himself  out  of  employment,  with 
scarcely  fifty  dollars  of  money  in  the  world. 

Though  he  had  repeated  and  generous  offers  to  remain  in 
the  vicinity,  he  declined  them  all,  having  determined  to  pro 
ceed  to  the  Western  country  and  establish  himself  somewhere, 
where  he  could  do  better,  pecuniarily,  in  the  end,  as  he  be 
lieved.  And  so,  without  much  delay,  he  put  his  resolve  into 
execution,  and  arrived  at  Wheeling,  Virginia,  en  route  to  Ohio 
or  Illinois. 

Here  he  remained  a  few  days,  and  sought  the  readiest  and 
most  economical  mode  of  conveyance  upon  his  contemplated 
journey.  Competition  among  the  steam  companies,  at  that 
period,  was  rife,  and  overy  stranger  who  approached  the  land- 


THE     CATASTROPHE.  229 

ing  at  the  levee  was  importuned  by  the  "runner"  in  the 
employ  of  the  different  lines,  to  proceed  by  his  favorite  boat. 

Toney  looked  about  him,  admired  the  different  superb  river 
structures  that  he  saw,  and  at  length  directed  his  luggage — a 
single  trunk  only — to  be  carried  on  board  the  boat  he  finally 
selected  from  among  half  a  score,  then  nearly  ready  to  start, 

He  chose  a  berth  in  the  splendid  steamer  Champion, 
then  about  to  proceed  upon  her  second  trip  only,  from 
Wheeling  to  New-Orleans,  and  "  way-stations."  The  warmer 
season  had  nearly  closed,  and  the  weather  in  that  region  was 
getting  sharp  and  crispy  in  October.  The  Champion  was 
bound  to  Cincinnati  first,  thence  to  Louisville,  and  so  down 
the  Mississippi,  stopping,  as  is  the  custom,  at  these  large  cities 
to  add  to  her  freight  and  passenger-list. 

She  was  a  very  beautiful  boat,  of  the  latest  model,  and  of 
the  better  class  of  high-pressure  "  palaces,"  which  are,  at  the 
present  day,  so  common  upon  the  waters  of  the  great  West. 
Upon  leaving  Wheeling,  the  river  was  unusually  high,  and  a 
large  complement  of  passengers  joined  her  from  the  East,  an 
ticipating  a  good  run  and  a  pleasant  trip  down  the  Ohio  and 
Mississippi. 

Among  the  second-class  passengers  there  were  some  three 
hundred  emigrants,  chiefly  Germans,  on  board,  who  were 
bound  to  the  farming  grounds  and  prairies  of  Indiana,  Michi 
gan,  and  Wisconsin,  many  of  whom  comprised  respectable 
families,  possessing  no  inconsiderable  amount  of  ready  gold, 
and  furniture  and  tools  of  an  excellent  description. 

It  chanced,  at  the  hour  the  Champion  sailed  from  her  start 
ing-place,  that  two  other  fine  boats,  of  a  similar  class,  but 
which  had  boon  in  the  trade  some  few  voars  the  longest,  came 


230  THE     BAG-PICKER. 

out  from  their  moorings  at  the  levee,  and  shot  down  the  river 
in  company  with  the  Champion.  They  were  rivals  of  each 
other,  the  Crescent  and  the  Dart,  and  both  were  in  opposition 
to  the  line  to  which  the  Champion  belonged.  The  owners  of 
the  former  steamers  had  given  their  masters  and  pilots  direc 
tions  to  "  head  off"  the  new  candidate  for  public  favor  at 
every  possible  point,  and  in  every  way  in  their  power,  and  the 
consequence  was  what  might  have  been  expected — the  Cham 
pion's  commander  resolved  to  hold  his  own,  and  beat  his 
opponents  in  the  downward  trip,  or,  to  use  his  own  expression, 
"he  would  never  see  New  Orleans  again  !" 

At  Marietta,  the  first  halting-place  of  the  boats,  the 
Champion  was  first  to  make  port  and  get  away.  At  Bur 
lington,  the  Dart  was  in  sight,  and  the  Crescent  was  close  by, 
as  the  Champion  again  wheeled  away  in  gallant  style,  still 
leading  her  excited  followers.  The  thick  black  smoke  that 
gushed  continuously  from  the  tall  chimneys  of  one  or  other  of 
the  rivals,  showed  plainly  to  those  who  were  accustomed  to 
travel  upon  the  western  rivers,  that  the  engineers  and  firemen 
were  emphatically  busy  on  board,  for,  night  and  day,  every 
hour  and  every  moment  of  time  from  the  outset,  there  had 
been  no  cessation  in  their  crowding  on  steam,  each,  like  his 
rival,  firmly  resolved  to  win  the  race. 

It  is  a  singularly  strange  feeling,  the  sensation  that  takes 
possession  of  the  passengers,  at  such  times,  on  board  these  too 
often  destruction-bent  craft.  We  have  traveled  the  entire 
length  and  breadth  of  these  rivers,  in  all  kinds  of  convey 
ances,  from  the  sluggish  and  tide-moving  flat-boat  to  the 
twenty-mi  le-an-hour  steamer,  and  have  seen  all  sorts  of  "  acci 
dents"  there,  from  the  smash-up  at  the  levee,  by  cool  premed- 


THE     CATASTROPHE.  231 

itated  collision,  to  the  sinking  by  snags,  and  the  explosion  of 
boilers,  and  we  never  yet  met  the  body  of  passengers  on  those 
waters  who,  ten  minutes  after  any  such  catastrophe,  were  not 
ready  to  draw  their  purses  for  a  subscription-plate  to  the  cap 
tain,  or  who  would  not  (or,  at  least,  many  of  them,  amid  the 
excitement)  hold  down  the  safety-valve,  at  the  risk  of  being 
blown  into  eternity,  rather  than  a  rival  should  pass  them  on 
the  water,  or  "wood  up"  and  get  away  one  minute  in  advance 
of  the  boat  they  chanced  to  be  on  board  of.  We  repeat,  it  is 
strange,  yet  this  is  truth  to  the  letter. 

The  Champion  arrived  in  safety  at  the  Queen  City,  Cincin 
nati,  and  half  an  hour  afterward  the  other  two  boats  came 
puffing  up  to  the  levee  there,  almost  side  by  side.  The  new 
steamer  was  justly  the  favorite  in  the  race,  thus  far  (if  there 
were  any  merit  in  the  competition  at  all),  and  the  passengers 
and  crew  were  intensely  excited  as  they  thus  proceeded  on,  at 
a  break-neck  rate,  toward  the  Mississippi  River. 

Some  were  for  continuing  straight  forward  without  halting 
at  this  regular  stopping-place,  since  they  now  had  got  eight  or 
ten  miles  the  start  of  their  rivals,  but  the  captain  was  obliged 
to  halt  here. 

The  three  boats  got  off  together  again,  however,  in  a 
brief  space  of  time,  and  without  much  loss  of  steam,  though 
the  terrible  laboring  of  the  machinery  on  board  the  Champion 
showed  with  certainty  that  she  was  taxed  to  the  last  tension 
of  her  capacity. 

Amid  the  cheering  of  the  rival  agents  and  the  numerous 
friends  of  the  three  boats,  who  crowded  the  edge  of  the  river, 
or  stood  upon  the  decks  of  the  steamers  that  lay  at  the  levee, 
away  went  the  competitors,  side  and  side  for  a  mile  or  two, 


232  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

but  the  Champion  soon  showed  her  two  companions  her  rudder- 
post,  shooting  ahead  sharply  at  a  short  bend  in  the  stream 
below  Cincinnati,  leaving  the  Crescent  and  Dart  emphatically 
behind  in  her  frothy  wake,  as  she  boomed  on  over  the  glassy 
surface  of  the  Ohio,  at  an  eighteen-knot  rate,  while  the  dingy 
stream  that  rushed  from  her  smoke-pipes  gave  certain  evidence 
that  the  price  of  rosin  was  of  but  trifling  consequence  in  the 
estimation  of  the  Champion's  managers ! 

As  the  boat  approached  the  first  small  town  on  the  river's 
margin,  below  Cincinnati,  the  captain  stepped  to  the  engine- 
room. 

"  Give  her  all  she  '11  bear,  Crawford,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of 
excitement ;  "  give  it  to  'em  to  the  last  moment.  They  're 
driving  us  like  devils,  but  our  reputation  is  at  stake,  and  we 
must  n't  be  beaten." 

Then  rushing  to  the  firemen,  he  yelled,  "  Pitch  it  in,  boys, 
pitch  it  in  !"  And  an  increased  action  was  quickly  afterward 
discernible  in  the  evolutions  of  the  wheels. 

The  desperate  commander  hastened  to  the  lever  of  the 
safety-valve,  that  had  latterly  been  trembling  up  and  down, 
and  grasping  the  arm  firmly,  he  resolved  that  no  steam  should 
be  suffered  to  escape  until  he  was  out  of  sight  and  sound  of 
the  Crescent  and  the  Dart ! 

Away  danced  the  splendid  new  steamer,  and  on  came  her 
pursuers,  thundering  down  stream  at  a  fearful  rate.  There 
were  six  hundred  souls  on  board  the  former — emigrants,  mer 
chants,  farmers,  gentlemen,  ladies,  and  children,  four  fifths  of 
whom  were  upon  the  decks  straining  their  eyes  with  gazing 
on  the  boats  behind,  and  riotous  with  the  thrilling  excitement 
of  this  anxious  occasion. 


THE     CATASTROPHE.  233 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The  weather  had 
moderated,  and  a  fine  warm  day  had  been  enjoyed  on 
board.  As  they  stood  oft'  the  town,  and  were  just  abreast  of 
its  most  thickly  settled  portion,  while  a  hundred  people  at 
least  ran  to  the  river  to  witness  their  progress  as  the  rivals 
passed  by,  a  tremor  shook  the  foremost  steamer  for  an  in 
stant,  the  pilot  hove  her  nose  shoreward  a  trifle,  that  her 
admirers  might  have  a  better  view  of  her  performance,  and  in 
the  next  instant  a  terrific  crash  succeeded,  the  decks  and  sides 
flew  widely  upward,  five  hundred  men  and  women  mounted 
into  the  air,  amid  shattered  fragments  of  iron,  and  wood,  and 
freight,  and  the  Champion  rolled  in  shoreward — a  mass  of 
burning,  smoky,  crumbling  ruins  ! 

The  shouts  that  rent  the  air,  the  frightful  groans  of  the 
wounded  and  the  dying,  the  terrible  scene  of  devastation  and 
ruin  that  filled  the  water  in  every  direction,  once  seen,  could 
never  be  forgotten. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

A     NEW     ACQUAINTANCE. 

In  storm,  and  flood,  and  all  decays  of  time, 
In  hunger,  plagues,  and  man-devouring  war; 

In  lazy  dreams,  that  clog  each  task  sublime 
In  loveless  doubts  of  Truth's  unsetting  star; 

In  all — THY  Spirit  will  not  cease  to  brood, 
With  vital  strength,  unfolding  all  to  good  ! 

STEELING. 

OF  the  five  hundred  (and  more)  persons  who  took  passage 
upon  this  ill-fated  boat,  less  than  three  hundred  were  found, 
and  many  of  these  were  so  burned  and  scalded,  and  bruised, 
that  they  died  soon  afterward,  on  shore.* 

Young  Touey  chanced  to  be  standing  upon  the  promenade 
deck,  beside  the  wheel-house,  when  the  terrific  explosion  oc 
curred  ;  and  though  as  a  second-class  passenger  he  had  no 
right  to  be  there  (by  the  rules  of  the  boat),  yet,  to  this  clearly 
Providential  circumstance  he  owed  his  preservation  ;  for  .not 
one  of  the  circle  with  whom  he  associated  on  board,  during 
the  passage  down,  and  but  very  few  of  the  other  emigrants, 
reached  the  shore  alive, 

*  In  the  case  of  the  steamer  Moselle,  that  burst  its  boiler  on  the  Ohio, 
a  short  time  after  the  above  narrated  accident,  some  three  hundred  souls 
were  dashed  into  eternity,  at  a  moment's  warning,  through  the  reck 
lessness  of  those  who  managed,  and  who  perished  with  her,  at  the  time ! 


A     NEW     ACQUAINTANCE.  235 

When  Toney  struck  the  water,  a  moment  after  the  crash 
came,  he  heard  a  frightful  shriek  near  him,  and  almost  in 
stantaneously  he  found  himself  locked  in  the  frantic  embrace 
of  a  young  female,  who  besought  him  to  save  her.  He  was 
a  good  swimmer,  fortunately,  as  well  as  a  stout,  robust  fel 
low,  and  he  quickly  passed  one  arm  about  the  girl's  waist, 
and  made  for  the  shore. 

Had  he  been  never  so  well  inclined  to  release  himself,  the 
task  would  have  been  too  difficult  to  accomplish,  for  the  fright 
ened  young  lady  clung  to  Toney  with  an  almost  certain 
death-grasp,  amid  her  terror  and  peril ;  and  lie  swam  and 
struggled  shoreward  with  all  his  might,  lest  in  the  midst  of 
her  alarm  and  distress  they  should  sink  together ! 

The  sight  from  the  shore  was  a  terrible  one,  truly  !  The 
surface  of  the  river,  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  more,  was  cov 
ered  with  the  dead,  wounded  and  dying !  Bales  of  merchan 
dize  on  fire,  boxes  of  goods  staved,  barrels  and  casks,  broken 
furniture,  fragments  of  the  wreck,  and  portions  of  human  bodies, 
floated  in  all  directions — the  sad  remains  of  the  Champion, 
her  passengers,  crew,  and  freight ! 

Poor  Toney  having  reached  the  landing  in  safety  with  his 
fair  burden,  immediately  rushed  to  the  rescue  of  other  unfor 
tunates,  and  succeeded  in  saving  a  score  of  sufferers.  When  all 
was  over,  he  stood  upon  the  Kentucky  shore,  houseless,  almost 
penniless,  and  alone,  a  thousand  miles  from  what  he  called  his 
home,  with  no  living  soul  that  he  knew  to  turn  to  for  coun 
sel,  or  for  means  with  which  to  go  forward,  or  to  return  ! 

"  There  he  is  !  That 's  him — this  is  he,  sir !"  rang  out  the 
voice  of  a  young  woman,  rushing  toward  Toney  at  this  mo 
ment,  while  the  boy  was  mourning  of  his  loss  and  his  troubled 


236  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

prospect,  and,  turning  about  to  ascertain  what  this  exclama 
tion  meant,  he  encountered  and  quickly  recognized  the  girl 
he  had  borne  from  the  water,  who  was  clinging  to  the  arm  of 
a  strange  gentleman,  who,  like  himself  and  the  young  lady, 
was  still  dripping  in  his  wet  clothing,  and  had  evidently  been 
saved  from  the  wreck  of  the  Champion. 

This  gentleman  called  himself  Anthony  Brittan,  a  man  of 
substantial  means,  and  said  to  be  a  prominent  planter  and  ag 
riculturist  in  the  State  of  Kentucky,  who  was  on  his  way 
home  from  Cincinnati,  in  company  with  his  ward. 

The  stranger  advanced  quickly  to  the  young  man's  side, 
and  thanked  him,  in  good  round  Kentucky  English,  for  the 
service  he  had  rendered  him  in  saving  his  daughter's  life. 
Toney  appreciated  the  gentleman's  remarks,  and  replied  : 

"  It  was  n't  so  much  what  I  did,  sir,  as  what  the  young 
lady  accomplished  herself.  I  could  n't  very  well  help  saving 
her,  if  I  saved  myself,  for  she  fortunately  clung  to  my  neck 
so  strongly  that  I  could  n't  have  got  away,  if  I  would  !  I 
am  happy,  indeed,  though,  to  have  aided  her.  /  have  lost 
every  thing  but  life,"  he  added ;  and  then,  in  his  humble  way, 
he  told  his  own  story  to  old  Brittan  (whose  name  he  had  long 
since  forgotten,  and  whom  he  had  no  idea  he  had  ever  seen 
before  in  his  life),  and  he  sympathized  with  the  boy,  on  ac 
count  of  the  friendly  earnestness  that  Julie,  his  ward,  evinced 
in  his  behalf,  more  than  for  the  service  he  had  so  nobly  per 
formed,  or  for  the  destitute  condition  in  which  he  found  him, 
which  the  selfish  man  considered  no  possible  affair  of  his ! 

However,  he  took  Toney  along  with  himself  and  "  daugh 
ter"  to  the  nearest  hotel,  where  the  young  man  subsequently 
explained  himself  more  fully,  and  where  Brittan  learned,  for 


A     NfcW     ACQUAINTANCE.  237 

the  iirst  time,  that  he  had  been  brought  up  on  a  Connecticut 
river  farm. 

The  grasping  Brittan  ascertained,  upon  further  conversa 
tion  with  him,  that  the  youth  was  intelligent  and  well  in 
formed  upon  general  subjects,  and  he  finally  invited  him  to 
go  home  with  him,  where  he  promised  him  employment,  if  he 
desired  it.  It  was  a  most  acceptable  proposition  to  Toney, 
who  accepted  the  offer  unhesitatingly. 

The  other  two  boats — the  Crescent  and  the  Dart — came 
down  upon  the  scene  of  the  wreck,  and  such  was  the  head 
way  they  were  under  that  they  did  not  halt  until  they  were 
nearly  a  mile  below  the  town.  Both  boats  let  off  steam  in- 
stanter,  however,  and  returned  to  the  spot  where  the  ruins 
and  the  passengers  of  their  late  rival  were  floating  in  the 
water.  They  afforded  all  the  aid  in  their  power,  and  finally 
went  on  again,  earnestly  vieing  with  each  other — ere  they 
were  out  of  sight  of  this  awful  scene — in  making  the  port 
of  St.  Louis  first ! 

On  the  evening  succeeding  the  disaster,  Brittan  turned  his 
steps  homeward.  Toney  accompanied  him  for  the  purpose 
of  taking  charge  of  the  agricultural  portion  of  his  estate,  to 
which  a  considerable  share  of  Brittan's  attention  had  latterly 
been  turned.  The  young  man  soon  found — although  he 
had  serious  difficulties  to  contend  with  among  the  slaves  on 
the  place — that  the  prospect  before  him  was  promising. 

Old  Brittan  had  never  seen  this  boy  but  once,  and  then,  it 
will  be  remembered,  only  for  a  moment,  in  company  with 
Dolly,  who  took  the  two  children  to  his  house.  lie  did  not 
afford  the  woman  the  opportunity  then  to  pronounce  their 
names,  and  he  never  knew  or  cared  what  they  were,  so  that 


238  T  II  K     KAG-PICKEK. 

he  suspected  nothing  in  the  name  or  the  person  of  Toney 
Mettler  ! 

Our  pseudo  planter  was  agreeably  astonished  to  find,  very 
soon  after  Mettler's  arrival  at  Grenville,  that  the  young  man 
had  been  excellently  well  educated  as  an  agriculturalist  (as 
most  good  "  Yankee"  farmers  are,  by  the  way),  for  he  saw 
that  his  new  foreman  took  hold  of  the  work  in  which  he  had 
been  in  previous  years  so  thoroughly  drilled,  right  earnestly, 
and  there  was  no  part  of  the  business  that  came  within  his 
province  that  he  did  not  fully  understand,  much  better  than 
any  one  whom  Brittan  had  yet  met  with  in  the  profession. 

The  live  stock  of  the  farm  quickly  exhibited  ample  im 
provement  under  his  care.  The  crops  were  judiciously  and 
economically  cultivated  by  him.  His  success  and  his  indus 
try  were  astonishing.  The  harvests  were  gathered  skillfully, 
and  the  farming  portion  of  Brittan's  estate  got  soon  to  be 
noted  for  its  peculiarly  thrifty  and  fine  appearance  in  com 
parison  with  others  in  the  county.  And  when  winter  came, 
Toney  sought  out  the  best  markets,  far  and  near,  and  obtained 
for  the  produce  of  his  labors  and  excellent  management  the 
very  highest  prices  invariably. 

And  thus  two  years  passed  away  from  the  time  when 
young  Mettler  (as  Toney  continued  to  call  himself)  was  so 
singularly  thrown  into  the  family  and  the  employment  of  An 
thony  Brittan,  his  unknown  grandfather ! 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

A     DIFFERENCE      OK      OPIKION. 

Thou  dost  speak  masterly, 
Young  though  thou  art ! 

What  kind  of  man  is  he  ? 
Why,  of  ?na»-kind. 

SHAKESFBARK. 

"  WELL,  now,  yer  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that,  Mettler,  do 
yer.  Yer  don't  mean  to  say  that  they  ain't  the  best  kind  o' 
labor  in  the  world  ef  they  're  managed  right,  do  yer  ?" 

"You  and  I  won't  agree,  Mr.  Taskem,"  replied  Touey,  who 
had  been  conversing  with  the  slave-hunter,  in  reference  to  the 
prospects  of  Brittan's  Kentucky  estate,  for  an  hour.  "  You 
and  I  can  never  look  at  this  subject  with  the  same  eyes. 
What  I  know,  I  know"  continued  Toney,  firmly,  " by  practical 
experience ;  and  I  mean  to  say  that  I  would  n't  accept  the 
services  of  any  three  of  Brittan's  hands — these  poor,  grovel  - 
ing,  cowered,  unambitious,  forsaken  wretches — for  one  respect 
able  Yankee  freeman,  for  my  uses,  here." 

"  Cowered  ?  forsaken  ?  groveling  ?"  said  Taskem,  repeating 
Toney's  words.  "Wy,  Brittan's  got  a  dozen  niggers  yere 
'at  cost  him  a  thousand  dollars  apiece ;  an'  they  're  the  best  in 
the  State  o'  Kaintucky.  /  sold  'em  to  him,  an'  don't  I  know 
what  a  good  nigger  is  ?  There  's  Nappo — " 


240  THE     UAG-i'lCKKH. 

"Very  true — Nappo  is  an  exception.  Nappo  is  a  gx>od 
hand." 

"  He  's  the  meanest  nigger  in  the  place,  an'  the  worst  one  I 
ever  seen  in  my  life,"  insisted  Taskem.  "  Ef  I  could  hev  af 
forded  to  keep  him,  it  would  ha'  done  me  good  to  ha'  hed  him 
where  I'd  a  made  him  buckle  to  it,"  responded  Taskem,  with 
a  rude  oath.  "  Nobody  can  live  with  the  cuss,  no  how." 

"  I  have  found  no  difficulty  whatever  with  him,"  insisted 
Toney,  mildly.  "  He  comes  and  goes  at  my  bidding,  cheer 
fully  always,  and  would  lay  down  his  life  for  me  at  this  mo 
ment,  if  such  a  thing  were  necessary,  I  have  not  a  doubt, 
lie  has  known  the  blessings  of  freedom,  temporarily,  poor  fel 
low  ;  and  as  to  his  present  usefulness  here — T  declare  to  you 
in  all  candor,  that  I  could  n't  get  along  at  all  without  Nappo. 
No  man  works  more  diligently,  more  faithfully — early  and 
late — than  he ;  and  I  deem  him  the  very  best  man,  by  all 
comparison,  that  Brittan  has  here  to-day !" 

"Men  /"  said  Taskem,  madly ;  "  what  the  devil  do  you  call 
these  cattle  men,  for  ?  That 's  wot 's  ruined  the  scamp ;  and 
it 's  wot  '11  ruin  all  the  rest  on  'em,  ef  yer  don't  mind  !" 

"  Situated  as  I  am  here,  Mr.  Taskem,"  continued  Toney, 
calmly,  "  I  do  not  go  out  of  my  way  to  offer  to  any  body  any 
of  my  settled  opinions,  of  course ;  nor  would  I  do  aught  to 
peril  the  interests  of  my  employer ;  but  I  find  that  kind  treat 
ment  answers  my  purposes,  and  if  I  can  alleviate  the  hardships 
of  the  poor  fellows  in  any  way,  I  do  so,  sir.  And,  while  I  feel 
right  here,  Mr.  Taskem,"  added  Toney,  laying  his  hand  upon 
his  heart,  "  I  knoio  that  they  do  better  for  Brittan,  and  love 
me  more  than  if  I  treated  them  as  if  they  were  merely  brutes." 

"  Brutes  ?     W'v,  vrhat  else  bo  they  but  cattle  ?     Animals— 


A     DIFFERENCE     OF     OPINION.  241 

two-legged  animals"  insisted  Taskem,  harshly.  "/  never 
found  a  nigger  yit  that  kind  treatment  would  break  in — 
never  /" 

"  Did  you  ever  try  it  upon  any  of  them  i"  asked  Toney,  iu 
his  mildest  manner. 

"  Try  it  ?  Wy,  hain't  I  bin  'mongst  niggers  for  more  'n 
forty  year  ?  Hain't  I  hed  all  kinds,  an'  don't  I  know  what  a 
nigger  is  ?  Mebby  I  don't !  Mebby,  Mr.  Mettler,  yer  can 
teach  me — Ralph  Taskem — how  to  manage  niggers.  But, 
what  I  don't  know  of  'em  ain't  worth  knowin',  I  reck'n.  Yer 
can't  get  along  without  forcin'  em,  I  tell  yer.  An'  ef  yer  con 
tinue  to  coax  and  fool  with  'em  this  way,  yer  '11  spile  every 
nigger  on  the  place,  an'  ruin  Brittan,  sure  's  I  now  tell  yer  so." 

"  When  Mr.  Brittan  thinks  so,  he  will  undoubtedly  apprise 
rne  of  it,"  said  Toney.  "  In  the  mean  time  I  shall  continue  to 
treat  all  God's  creatures  kindly,  and  I  shall  never  forget,  not 
withstanding  the  position  I  now  occupy,  that  slave-labor  is 
unprofitable  and  unnecessary,  and  that  the  institution  itself  is 
a  curse,  and  a  foul  blot  upon  our  nation's  fame,  Mr.  Taskem." 

'"  Hallo— hallo  !  Mettler,  this  won't  do  !"  said  Taskem, 
bristling  up.  "  By  Jove,  sir,  ef  this  is  the  way  yer  talk,  yer  '11 
find  it  hard  work  to  live  yere,  do  yer  mind.  It  won't  do, 
Mettler !" 

"  It  must  do,  sir,  whenever  you  broach  this  subject  to  me. 
I  do  not  express  these  opinions  where  the  men — the  poor 
slaves  can  hear  me.  But  before  such  men  as  you  are — a  free 
white  man,  who  can  come  and  go  as  he  will,  and  to  whom 
God  has  given  intellect  and  understanding — whenever  the  ap 
propriate  opportunity  offers,  I  shall  not  omit  to  express  my 
honest  sentiments,  be  sure  of  it." 

11 


242  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  But,  Mettler,  it 's  treason  /" 

"Make  the  most  of  it,  then,"  retorted  the  young  man, 
quickly.  "  I  know  where  /  stand,  sir  ;  and  if  you  don't  wish  to 
hear  the  truth  spoken,  don't  assail  me.  You  now  know  my 
opinion  on  this  subject.  And  as  Nappo  is  corning-,  yonder,  I 
have,  at  present,  nothing  to  add,"  said  Toney,  moving  away. 

"Mornin',  Massa  Mettler,"  said  Nappo,  cheerfully,  as  he 
hurried  up  to  Toney,  with  a  heavy  mule-harness  that  he  had 
been  repairing ;  "  mornin',  sah." 

"  Good  morning,  Nappo.     How  is  the  foot  ?"  said  Toney. 

"  Better,  Massa ;  e?en-a-mose  well." 

Nappo  had  been  troubled  with  lameness  in  the  ankle, 
lately,  from  over-exertion  upon  his  old  broken  limb. 

"  Well,  wash  it  twice  or  three  times  a  day  with  the  liniment 
I  gave  you,  Nappo ;  and  don't  work  too  hard,  nor  run  around 
too  much  until  it  gets  strong  again.  You  '11  soon  come  on 
again,  if  you  take  care  of  it." 

"Tank  you,  massa.  I'se  gwine  ober  to  de  cabin  a  little 
wile,  ef  you  did  n't  want  me  jess  now." 

"  Yes,  go — go,  Nappo,  and  take  care  of  your  lame  foot.  I 
shall  want  you,  by  and  by." 

Nappo  had  got  to  love  Mettler  as  if  he  were  a  brother,  or  a 
dear  good  friend ;  and  he  was  the  first  white  man  he  had  ever 
yet  met  with,  south  of  the  line  of  freedom,  who  had  treated 
him  well.  But  Nappo  only  knew  him  as  his  "  master,"  under 
Brittan,  and  he  served  him  with  hearty  good  will,  at  all  times, 
and  in  all  possible  ways. 

Julie  Manning  had  grown  to  be  as  beautiful  a  girl  as  Ken 
tucky  could  then  boast  of,  and  in  her  sphere  she  was  deeply 
beloved  by  those  who  surrounded  her. 


A     DIFFERENCE     OF     OPINION.  243 

Young  Mettler  was  a  handsome,  round-faced,  fair-skinned 
youth,  of  gentle  address  and  manners,  and  Brittan  took  him 
into  his  family,  immediately  upon  his  arrival  at  Greenville. 
From  the  hour  that  he  came  there,  Julie  secretly  loved  him  ! 
And  though  this  result  might  be  deemed  singular,  it  was 
nevertheless  true.  And  Julie  contrived,  after  a  while,  to  let 
Toney  know  that  she  favored  him,  though  she  took  care  that 
Brittau  should  not  be  apprised  of  her  feelings,  by  any  means. 

At  first  the  youth  was  dull  of  comprehension  regarding  the 
beauty's  intents  and  disposition  toward  him.  But,  as  he  grew 
older,  and  became  better  acquainted  with  the  habits  and  the 
feelings  of  Julie,  and  saw  how  earnestly  and  seriously  she  con 
trived  to  interest  him,  and  to  render  his  new  home  happy,  he 
began  to  permit  the  light  to  enter  into  his  hitherto  dull  brain, 
and  to  discover  that  the  fair  "  daughter"  of  his  employer — 
whose  life  he  had  accidentally  saved — was  sincerely  devoted 
to  him ! 

And  then  he  responded  to  her  hopes.  And  secretly  gave 
her  love  for  love,  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  fresh  and  honest  and 
confiding  heart. 

After  another  year  or  two,  during  which  time  they  were 
constantly  together,  the  happy  pair  had  come  to  a  most  excel 
lent  good  understanding — though  no  one  had  reason  to  sus 
pect  what  was  transpiring,  so  shrewdly  and  so  silently  had  all 
the  little  plans  of  the  lovers  been  managed,  from  the  very 
beginning. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

THE     RECOGNITION. 

We  two  were  pretty  babes.    The  time  has  been 

"We  two  did  love  cacb  otber's  company; 

Time  was,  we  two  had  wept  to  have  been  apart. 

CHARLES  LAMB. 

THE  traveler  who  cliauces  to  find  himself  in  the  vicinity  of 
E ,  a  pretty  and  thriving  town  located  in  one  of  the  south 
westerly  counties  of  the  State  of  New  York,  as  he  lingers  along 
upon  the  side  road  running  parallel  with  the  main  avenue 
leading  to  to  the  village,  may  halt  a  moment  to  admire  one  of 
Jhe  most  picturesque  and  lovely  spots  in  the  country. 

At  a  sharp  angle  by  the  roadside  may  be  seen  oozing  from 
a  crevice  between  two  high  rocks  a  thread  of  silvery  water, 
that  dashes  down  the  craggy  and  moss-grown  steep,  from  an 
elevation  of  full  sixty  feet,  forming  one  of  the  prettiest  and 
liveliest  cascades  ever  met  with — such  an  one  as  Doughty 
would  have  thrown  into  the  middle  distance  of  one  of  his  de 
lightful  landscapes  with  splendid  effect,  and  which  the  lover 
of  nature  could  not  pass  by  without  lingering  to  admire. 

At  the  base  of  the  bluff  over  which  this  brooklet  gushes, 
there  runs  out  to  the  eastward  a  long  narrow  strip  of  level 
lawn,  bright  and  green,  through  which  the  stream  meanders 
plowly,  enlarging  as  it  goes,  and  furnishing  the  water  to  carry 


THE     RECOGNITION.  245 

a  small  mill  in  the  vale  beyond.  Clumps  of  trees  ornament 
the  vicinity,  rocks,  covered  with  vines,  line  the  road,  and 
altogether  the  place  has  an  air  of  romance  not  at  all  common 
in  that  region. 

A  few  rods  distant  from  the  spot  where  the  sparkling  waters 
fall  at  the  foot  of  the  sharp  promontory,  there  stood,  some 
years  ago,  a  diminutive  one-story  building,  which  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  shop,  or,  possibly,  a  dwelling,  though  it  was 
very  small,  and  was  built  of  wood. 

It  stood  endwise  to  the  road,  and  seemingly  was  too  limited 
in  dimensions  to  be  intended  as  a  habitation  for  human 
beings  in  that  country  ;  but  one  does  not  know  in  how  small 
a  space  he  can  live  until  one  is  compelled  to  try  experiments 
in  this  way ! 

A  young  man  was  on  his  way  from  the  shire-town  to  the 
village  spoken  of,  one  morning,  and  as  he  came  out  suddenly 
upon  this  lovely  spot,  he  reined  up  his  horse  for  a  moment  to 
admire  it.  He  moved  on  slowly  down  the  ravine  road,  won 
dering  what  the  little  building  could  possibly  be  intended  for, 
when  a  head  emerged  from  out  the  low  front  window,  and  he 
observed  that  the  outer  door  was  open. 

This  head,  as  it  subsequently  proved,  belonged  to  a  man  of 
pleasant  and  affable  manners,  who  appeared  to  be  some  sixty- 
five  or  seventy  years  old.  As  the  traveler  arrived  opposite  his 
window,  he  raised  his  eyes,  nodded,  and  said — 

"  How  d'  ye  do  ?" 

The  youth  halted,  for  he  was  not  in  haste,  and  responded — 
"  A  charming  little  place  you  have  here." 

The  old  man  laid  down  some  tools  he  had  been  busily  oc 
cupied  with  at  work,  and  came  to  the  open  door-way. 


246  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  Won't  you  stop  ?"  he  said,  smilingly. 

The  young  man  had  nothing  to  stop  for  particularly, 
though  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  go  on,  but  he  was  inter 
ested  in  the  scene,  and  he  replied,  "  Thank  you ;"  and  very 
soon  had  hitched  his  pony  by  the  low  gate. 

He  was  surprised,  upon  entering  the  little  building,  to  find 
it  so  spacious.  The  front  door  opened  at  once  into  the  work 
shop  of  this  man,  and  it  occupied  the  whole  size  of  the  build 
ing  facing  the  road.  He  proved  to  be  an  Englishman,  and 
his  occupation  was  that  of  a  theodolite  maker.  His  imple 
ments  and  materials  were  of  the  very  nicest  quality,  and  he 
had  several  partially-finished  instruments  about  his  room, 
which,  from  their  exquisite  workmanship  and  nice  compo 
sition,  showed  at  the  first  glance  that  the  old  man  was  an 
adept  in  his  vocation. 

His  extensive  assortment  of  choice  tools,  too,  so  neatly 
arranged  and  carefully  bestowed  around  his  benches,  gave 
evidence  that  he  prided  himself  on  his  skill ;  and,  Yanke'e- 
like,  the  first  thought  that  suggested  itself  to  the  stranger's 
mind,  under  the  circumstances,  was,  where  the  old  man  ob 
tained  the  capital  to  carry  on  this  plainly  expensive  trade — 
for  he  knew  that  these  instruments,  when  well  finished,  were 
very  valuable,  and  costly  in  their  manufacture. 

He  asked  sundry  questions,  that  might  have  been  considered 
impertinent,  perhaps,  had  he  not  found  his  entertainer  to  be 
voluntarily  communicative,  but  to  which  the  good-natured  old 
fellow  gave  him  prompt  answers  continually,  though  he  kept 
sharp  at  work  all  the  while.  He  suggested,  at  length,  that 
this  profession  was  not  a  common  occupation  in  this  country. 
And  the  artisan  said — 


THE     RECOGNITION.  247 

"  No ;  though  you  have  some  very  good  workmen  in  this 
line  in  your  cities." 

"  Do  they  compete  with  you  much  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  at  all.  I  have  a  constantly  ready  sale  for  all  I  can 
make." 

"  Your  materials  are  expensive  ?" 

"  Yes.  And  you  wonder  where  a  poor  man  like  me,  iso 
lated  here,  and  altogether  unknown,  finds  the  means  to  carry 
on  such  a  trade — eh  ?"  said  the  artisan,  looking  up  at  his 
guest,  pleasantly, 

He  acknowledged  his  curiosity  on  this  point,  and  the  old 
man  immediately  added — 

"  Sit,  sir — sit ;  and  I  will  tell  you  something,  perhaps,  that 
shall  entertain  you,  if  you  are  not  in  haste — eh  f ' 

The  youth  (whom  the  old  man  had  not  a  suspicion  he  knew) 
accepted  the  artisan's  offer,  and  the  latter  went  into  a  little 
room  at  the  back  of  the  shop,  from  whence  he  quickly  re 
turned  again,  bearing  a  waiter  in  his  hands,  upon  which  were 
a  clean  stone  jug  of  cold  well-water,  a  generous  dish  of  white 
biscuit,  and  a  round  of  Dutch  cheese.  Pointing  to  the  fare, 
he  said — 

"  I  am  an  Englishman  by  birth,  but  I  have  been  in  this 
country  now  more  'n  forty  year.  I  have  n't  been  always  what 
you  see  me  now,  and  this  place  I  bought  only  a  few  years 
since.  When  I  came  here,  I  paid  down  for  three-and-twenty 
acres  here — running  below  the  brook  and  falls  yonder,  forty- 
six  pounds  sterling,  that  is  to  say,  rising  two  hundred  dollars. 
It  was  my  whole  fort'n,  except  my  tools,  then.  There  was  no 
railroads  when  I  came  out  here.  Now,  the  cars  run  by,  within 
sight  and  sound  of  my  window — over  fifty  trains  daily,  sir !" 


248  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

"  Something  of  a  change,"  suggested  the  young  man. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  don't  enter  the  cars  often.  I  don't  like  them," 
continued  the  old  man.  "  I  came  here  and  pitched  my  tent, 
a  considerable  time  since,  here  I  've  remained,  always  at  work 
as  you  see,  and  here  I  shall  die  at  last,  probably." 

"  And  here  you  dwell,  all  alone,  I  suppose,  and  enjoy  lite  as 
well  as  we  do  who  are  in  constant  communication  with  the 
busier  world  ?"  queried  the  stranger. 

"  Alone  !"  exclaimed  the  old  man ;  "  oh,  no  !  I  'm  not 
alone.  I  've  no  family  but  my  little  daughter  ;  but  I  Ve 
always  companions  in  plenty — the  birds,  the  bees,  my  little 
dog,  and  old  puss,  yonder ;  and  though  I  don't  get  rich,  I  'm 
always  happy  now,  and  we  get  enough  for  our  comforts  and 
needs.  I  did  n't  ask  your  name,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  at 
this  moment,  halting  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  his  story. 

"  Mettler,  sir— Toney  Mettler." 

"  Mettler,  Mettler  ?"  repeated  the  artisan.  "Toney  Mettler, 
did  you  say?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  old  man  was  puzzled.  He  was  sure  he  had  seen  this 
young  person  before,  but  he  did  not  know  this  name.  But  he 
continued. 

"  I  say  I  was  not  always  what  you  now  see  me.  I  moved 
in  an  humbler  sphere  for  a  long  time  after  I  came  to  this 
country.  But  by  study,  and  labor,  and  God's  blessing,  I  ob 
tained  the  information  I  now  possess,  and  the  means  to  carry 
on  my  little  trade.  I  had  wandered  about  the  earth  for  years 
and  years,  and  had  no  children,  no  family  to  cave  for  or  to 
care  for  me,  and,  at  last,  I  took  a  little  foundling  from  the 
streets,  and  left  niy  unsuccessful  home  to  try  a  new  one. 


THE     RECOGNITION.  249 

"  I  came  here,  at  length,  as  I  have  told  you.  I  purchased 
this  spot  with  the  bulk  of  what  money  I  had  left,  and  here  I 
sat  down  to  earn  my  living,  and  support  and  educate  my  little 
one  (who  has  now  grown  up  to  be  a  woman,  almost),  and 
here  we  are  happy  and  contented." 

"Who  is  that?"  exclaimed  the  young  stranger,  suddenly 
rising,  as  the  merry  voice  of  a  female  was  heard  near  the  door. 

"  That 's  her — that 's  my  bird.  That 's  my  little  singer. 
She  always  sings — always  sung,  ever  since  I  knew  her.  But 
for  her  sweet  voice  I  should  long  ago  have  sunk  beneath  the 
misfortunes  that  surrounded  us.  But  she  never  desponded — 
never  stopped  singing.  "When  the  clouds  were  darkest  she 
sang  the  loudest.  But  here  she  is — my  darling  Carrie,  sir !" 

And,  at  the  word,  Carrie  Ellson  sprang  carelessly  in  at  old 
Davy's  little  shop  door ! 

Without  a  word  of  explanation,  as  old  Davy  approached  to 
greet  his  little  charge,  who  had  just  returned  from  the  village, 
the  stranger  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and,  kissing  her  again 
and  ao-ain,  he  exclaimed — 

O  ' 

"  Carrie — dear  Carrie — don't  you  remember  me  ?" 

The  guest  was  her  brother,  Toney,  who  was  on  his  way 

to  the  village  of  E ,  upon  business.     The  old  man  haa 

already  been  introduced  to  the  reader. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

A  U  L  D     LANG     SYNE. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  never  brought  to  mind  ? 

OLD  Soxo. 

OLD  Davy  did  not  interfere  as  the  brother  and  sister  recog 
nized  each  other,  almost  at  the  same  moment,  though  they 
had  been  separated  for  so  many  years,  and  each  had  grown 
up  almost  to  maturity. 

Toney  was  quite  a  man,  and  little  Carrie  was  now  a  young 
lady  grown  ! 

"  But  how  is  your  name  Mettler,  Toney  ?"  asked  Davy,  at 
last. 

Toney  explained  to  them  why  and  when  he  had  adopted 
this  name,  and  how  he  supposed  that  he  should  never  again 
see  or  hear  from  any  one  at  home  that  would  care  for  him. 
His  master  proved  kind  to  him,  and  he  had  no  choice.  They 
had  called  him  "  Mettler's  boy"  at  first,  and  so  they  readily 
came  to  call  him  Mettler,  and  he  adopted  it,  without  caring 
so  much  what  name  he  went  by  so  that  it  was  always  kept 
unsullied  and  honorable. 

And  great  indeed  was  the  joy  of  the  brother  and  sister 
thus  to  meet  under  such  happy  circumstances.  Toney  plied 


AULD     LANG    SYNE.  251 

old  Davy  and  Carrie  with  a  thousand  questions  as  to  the  past, 
and  he  thus  learned  of  all  the  troubles  and  privations  they 
had  undergone  to  arrive  at  their  present  evident  prosperity 
and  happy  condition. 

The  brother  then  related  his  experience  from  the  time  the 
children  had  been  separated  at  Mr.  Meeker's  house,  omitting 
to  rehearse  no  portion  of  his  past  foibles  and  follies,  and 
bringing  his  history  down  to  that  hour.  He  had  business 

with  a  factor  at  the  town  of  E ,  whither  he  was  then 

bound,  and  as  soon  as  this  was  concluded  he  promised  to 
return  to  them  and  confer  with  them  at  length  in  regard  to 
the  future. 

After  two  hours'  absence  at  the  village,  Toney  came  back 
again  and  seated  himself  with  his  early  friends,  to  talk  of 
"  auld  lang  syne." 

"  And  you  say,  Toney,  that  you  did  n't  know  Davy,  here  ?" 
asked  Came,  astonished. 

"  No,  I  did  not.  He  is  changed — his  hair  is  whiter — his 
features  have  altered  (though  I  see  him  now  clearly  enough, 
and  well  remember  his  looks),  and  his  garb  is  greatly  im 
proved.  I  knew  him  only  as  the  old  rag-picker,  you  re 
member,  and  it  is  n't  strange,  I  think,  Davy,  that  I  should 
not  have  recognized  you  at  first,  eh  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  Toney.  But  I  knew  you,  I  thought,  from  the 
first  moment  you  fivirly  entered  the  house.  And  when  you 
mentioned  Tonetfs  name,  though  I  knew  no  Mettler,  I  was 
sure  of  you." 

"  A  farmer,  hey  ?"  said  Carrie,  pleasantly.  "  But  how  long 
have  you  dwelt  in  Kentucky  ?"  she  continued. 

"  Several  years,  Came.'1 


252  THE     RAO-PICKEH. 

"  That 's  where  the  poor  slaves  live,  is  n't  it  ?  You  don't 
live  with  them,  do  you  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  been  on  a  plantation  there  since  I  first  en 
tered  the  State." 

"  You  ?"  exclaimed  Carrie,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  sister,  even  /." 

"  What !  where  they  choke  and  drown  and  burn  up  the  poor 
negroes  ?" 

"  Well,  not  quite  so  bad  as  that." 

"  They  cut  them  to  pieces,  though,  don't  they  ?  And  beat 
them,  and  chain  big  logs  to  their  feet  so  they  can't  go  away, 
and  starve  them,  and  all  that,  don't  they  ?  I  've  read  and 
heard  so,  I  'm  sure,  a  hundred  times." 

"  Well,  I  have  never  witnessed  any  such  cruelty." 

"  Then  you  were  n't  among  'em  much." 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  with  them  constantly  for  several  years. 
There  are  many  exceptions  to  the  rule  of  kind  treatment  to 
ward  them,  but  they  are  not  so  brutal  where  I  have  dwelt," 
said  Toney. 

"  Well,  I  would  n't  live  Avhere  there  was  a  slave  for  all  the 
world !"  said  Carrie,  innocently.  "  It 's  a  cruel  thing,  any 
way,  and  I  hope  you  '11  leave  that  business,  .right  away.  AVou't 
you,  Toney  ?  AVon't  you  come  and  live  with  us — me  and 
Davy  ?  Say,  won't  you  ?" 

The  subject  was  dropped,  and  the  two  children  talked  of 
other  matters — of  mother  and  father,  and  their  former  home ; 
but  neither  of  them  knew  any  thing  in  reference  to  their  pa 
rents. 

Carrie  knew  and  remembered  of  Dolly's  death,  but  her 
recollections  of  much  else  wore  indistinct. 


AULD     LANG     SYNE.  253 

Davy  permitted  them  to  do  all  the  talking,  but  lie  was 
greatly  delighted  to  see  them  both  so  happy.  After  a  lengthy 
interview,  Toney  informed  his  newly-found  friends  that  he 
should  be  obliged  to  return  to  Greenville,  but  now  that  he 
knew  of  their  whereabouts,  he  should  come  back  again  very 
soon,  and  fix  upon  a  residence  nearer  to  them — where  they 
could  be  often  together — for  he  had  long  since  become  weary 
of  his  present  situation. 

Toney  had  saved  several  hundred  dollars  from  his  earnings 
in  the  past  few  years,  for  his  pay  had  been  prompt  and  gen 
erous  in  Brittan's  employ,  and  he  determined  now  to  leave 
Kentucky  at  an  early  day. 

And  finally  he  started  again  for  Greenville,  Avith  the  prom 
ise  to  Davy  and  Carrie  that  he  would  resume  his  own  proper 
name  forthwith,  and  return  to  see  them  within  a  few  weeks 
at  furthest. 

With  a  bounding  heart  he  journeyed  back  to  Kentucky, 
where  he  had  temporarily  left  his  charming  Julie,  deeply 
thankful  for  the  lucky  chance  that  had  thus  brought  him 
upon  the  track  of  his  long  lost  sister. 

After  fifteen  days'  absence  from  his  post  he  arrived  again 
at  Brittan's  house. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

NAPPO     AND     TONEY. 

For  I  know  thou  'rt  full  of  love  and  honesty, 

And  weigh'st  thy  words  before  thou  giv'st  them  breath; 

Therefore,  these  stops  of  thine  fright  me  the  more ! 

Men  should  l>e  what  they  seem. 

OTHELLO. 

"  WELL,  it 's  my  'pinion,  that  the  sooner  yer  git  red  of  him 
the  better  it  '11  be  fer  the  place,  and  fer  the  hands.  The  nig 
gers  is  got  so  sassy  'at  it  ain't  safe  for  a  man  to  be  yere.  I 
sware  to  yer,  Britt'n,  I  think  jess  what  I  say,  now.  As  to 
Nappo,  I  donuo  what  yer  '11  do  with  him.  /  don't  want  him. 
Mettler  's  spi'lt  him  fer  my  market." 

"You're  right,  Taskern.  I've  seen  all  this  for  a  good 
while,"  replied  Brittan.  "  I  did  n't  want  to  send  Mettler  off, 
for  I  saw  long  ago  that  he  was  discontented  with  his  position, 
and  I  hoped  he  would  go  voluntarily.  He 's  a  good  man,  the 
farm  looks  finely,  and  I  've  no  doubt  I  shall  miss  him  in  that 
way — for  I  never  saw  his  equal  in  America.  But — 

"  Fudge !  Beck 's  worth  a  heap  o'  sech  fellers.  I  know 
what  Beck  is.  I  did  n't  recommend  him  to  yer  as  I  did, 
'thout  knowin'  him,  clean  through.  Give  him  charge  yere, 
and  the  niggers '11  dance  to  a  new  tune.  Let  Mettler  go. 
He  '11  spile  every  nigger  yer'  ve  got,  an'  I  would  n't  give  a 
picayune  fer  some  uv  Vm,  as  it  is  !"  said  Taskem,  angrily. 


NAPPO     AND     TONEY.  255 

In  this  vein  the  two  friends  had  been  conversing  for  an 
hour.  Mettler  was  away,  and  he  was  expected  back  to  Green 
ville  that  day.  Brittan  was  alarmed.  Taskem  had  contrived 
so  to  insinuate  himself  into  his  good  graces,  that  the  slave- 
driver's  opinion — despite  his  real  ignorance  of  ought  save  his 
heartless  vacation — had  long  since  come  to  be  law  to  the 
Englishman.  And  Taskem  held  him,  measurably,  within  his 
power,  for  good  or  ill,  in  a  pecuniary  view. 

He  had  stocked  his  estate  with  unsaleable  and  inferior  ne 
groes  ;  some  of  them  utterly  worthless  (even  as  slaves),  and 
Brittan  had  paid  him  the  most  exorbitant  prices  for  this 
"property,"  which  for  years  had  been  depreciating  in  market 
able  value,  on  his  hands,  because  ho  knew  nothing  whatever 
of  the  business  he  had  so  recklessly  engaged  in,  and  had  sud 
denly  found  that  the  enterprise  was  proving  disastrous  to  him 
in  every  way ! 

His  entire  means,  including  Julie's  patrimony,  were  invested 
in  his  plantation.  The  tobacco  he  had  raised  for  the  previous 
four  years,  scarcely  netted  him  one  half  its  prime  cost. 
Taskem  had  forced  upon  him  two  or  three  dozen  slaves  who 
had  been  raised  upon  rice  and  sugar  plantations,  who  knew 
nothing  whatever  of  cultivating  and  curing  tobacco,  and  who 
were  too  old  and  too  lazy  to  learn  any  thing  new,  'notwith 
standing  the  goadings  and  scourgings  and  beatings  adminis 
tered  by  the  overseer  Beck,  whom  Taskem  had  also  provided 
him  with ;  and  who  was  an  unprincipled,  miserable  ruffian, 
at  best,  possessing  no  qualifications  for  the  place  he  undertook 
to  fill  on  Brittan's  estate. 

The  cattle  and  swine  and  horses  (under  Toney's  charge), 
were  in  excellent  rondition,  and  the  corn-fields  that  spread  far 


256  THE     KAG-PICKER. 

away  upon  the  south-westerly  portion  of  the  estate,  and  which 
had  always  been  the  pride  of  Mettler,  showed  what  could  be 
effected  by  skillful  cultivation,  even  in  that  country.  But  the 
outgoes  of  Brittan  were  enormous.  He  lived  extravagantly 
and  loosely,  and  the  chances  were  clearly  against  him. 

His  receipts  did  not  come  up  to  the  expenditures  of  his  es 
tablishment  by  a  very  considerable  amount,  annually,  and  he 
very  soon  became  involved  by  means  of  his  carelessness,  his 
love  of  hunting  and  horse-racing  (where  he  was  seldom  a 
winner),  his  wine-drinking  and  carousing,  at  home  and 
abroad,  and  the  general  recklessness  that  finally  characterized 
his  entire  course  of  life,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  "  took  no 
thought  for  the  morrow,"  but  left  every  thing  in  the  hands  of 
those  whom  he  employed. 

To  the  last  moment  Toney  held  out,  however,  and  toiled 
with  all  his  might  to  earn  and  save  in  his  department  of  'the 
estate.  But  the  task  was  too  great.  The  profits  of  his  enter 
prise  and  labors  and  management  only  went  to  sustain,  for  a 
time,  the  drawbacks  and  sacrifices  upon  the  other  portions  of 
the  plantation ;  and  he  became  heartily  sick  and  weary  of  the 
work  before  him.  But  for  his  Julie  he  would  long  before 
have  retired ;  and  when  he  finally  hinted  to  her  his  intentions 
in  secret,  which  he  eventually  resolved  upon,  firmly,  her  dis 
tress  was  very  great — for  life  would  be  but  a  dreary  blank  to 
her,  amid  the  associations  with  which  she  found  herself  sur 
rounded,  if  her  lover  left  the  place  he  occupied.  But,  though 
Toney  had  determined  upon  leaving  Greenville,  he  had  not 
the  slightest  idea  of  leaving  Julie  behind  him — as  we  shall  see 
anon ! 

Tonev  arrived   again  at  Greenville.     Brittan  received  him 


NAPPO    AND     TONEY.  257 

with  marked  coldness,  but  lie  did  not  seem  to  notice  this, 
though  he  felt  sure  that  Taskem  had  been  at  work  again  with 
his  employer  during  his  late  absence.  Nappo  informed  him 
that  the  slave-hunter  had  been  up,  "  to  bring  a  yaller  gal  for 
Missy  Julie." 

"  Glad  you  cum  back,  Massa  Mettler,"  said  Nappo,  grate 
fully,  as  he  saw  Toney.  "  Dre'ful  glad  you  cum  again.  Hope 
you  no  go  'way  no  more." 

Toney  said,  "  You  've  been  a  good  boy,  Nappo,  have  n't  you, 
since  Heft?" 

"  Oh  yes,  massa,  I  good  boy  now.  I  good  to  him,  'cause  I 
know  you  come  ag'in,  an'  I  would  n't  be  long  wid  him  ;"  said 
Nappo,  alluding  to  Beck! 

"  Does  n't  he  treat  you  all  well  ?"  asked  Toney. 

"  Wh-e-w !"  responded  Nappo ;  and  then  a  low,  bitter 
chuckle — half  grin  and  half  scorn — escaped  him,  in  answer 
to  what  he  deemed  so  absurd  a  query. 

'•  Dat  Taskem,  massa,"  said  Nappo,  at  length. 

They  were  alone  together  in  the  great  stable,  and  Nappo 
seemed  desirous  to  talk  to  Toney,  who  always  listened  to  him 
when  he  had  leisure. 

"  Dat  Taskem,  Massa  Mettler,  does  you  know  him  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  him  here,  only." 

"Doesn't  you  know  him  ?"  asked  Nappo  again, 

"  No,  not  particularly.     Why,  Nappo  ?" 

"  Well,  Taskem  's  big  villain,  sart'n.  De  debble  '11  hab  de 
grineing  ob  his  bones  one  dese  days,  I  tinlc,  Massa  Mettler." 

"  He  is  no  friend  of  yours,  I  know,  Nappo.  But  you  must 
not  harbor  any  such  evil  feelings  against  any  one.  That  is 
wrong  and  useless.  Don't  you  remember  that  we  are  bidder* 


258  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

to  love  our  enemies,  to  do  good  to  them  that  hate  us,  and 
pray  for  those  who  persecute  us  ?" 

"  Lub  'em  ?  Lub  him — Taskem  ?"  exclaimed  Nappo  in  as 
tonishment. 

"  We  should  love  every  body,  Nappo,  and  be  kind  to  every 
one,  and  never  suffer  our  wrongs,  though  never  so  grievous,  to 
impel  us  to  commit  the  sin  of  even  hoping  for  revenge  for  them." 

Nappo  was  thoughtful,  and  finally  said  : 

"  Dat  de  way  you  allers  does,  Massa  Mettler  ?" 

"  I  should  endeavor  so  to  do." 

"  Allers,  massa  ?"  insisted  Nappo. 

"  Yes,  always.  At  least,  such  would  be  my  duty  and  the 
requirements  in  God's  laws.  When  you  were  in  New  Eng 
land  you  often  heard  of  this  doctrine,  did  n't  you,  Nappo  ?" 

"  I  heer  good  deal,  Massa  Mettler,  dat  go  fuss  in  'ere,  and 
den  out  'ere  /"  said  Nappo,  placing  his  finger  dexterously  first 
to  one  ear  and  then  to  the  other.  "  But  I  see  good  deal,  too, 
massa,  and  I  feel  good  deal  more  dan  boff  togedder  ;  an'  ef 
dat  Taskem  don't  go  whar  dey  whip  'em  an'  whale  'em  an' 
mash  dar  toof  for  'em,  one  dese  fine  nights,  den  I  don't  b'leeb 
nuff ' n  ner  nobuddy — dass  a  fack — an'  Massa  Britt'n,  too !" 

Nappo  had  quoted  Scripture  as  nearly  as  the  poor  fellow 
could  remember  the  passage  relating  to  the  "  weeping  and 
wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth." 

"  You  're  hard  on  them,  Nappo,  and  you  must  strive  to 
overcome  these  bitter  feelings,"  replied  Toney. 

"  Hard  on  'em  !  Wot  dey  do  fer  me  ?  Was  n't  it  hard  on 
me  dat  dem  two  men  sh'ud  trap  me  an'  sen'  me  'way  to  Ala- 
bamer  fer  nuth'n,  on'y  'cause  Taskem  swear  in  de  court  dat 
I  steal  his  mudder's  air-rings  ?  An'  could  n't  Massa  Britt'n 


NAPPO     AND     TONEY.  259 

hab  sabed  me  from  de  slave-hunter  ef  lie  bin  min'  to  ?  An' 
he  did  n't !  He  help  Taskem  all  de  time ;  an'  he  wuss  'n 
Taskem,  dam  site,  too,  'cause  he  kill  he  own  darter  in  Bosson, 
and  murder  her  to  deff  and  starve  her  arterwa  ds — poor  Missy 
Annie,"  concluded  Nappo. 

"  Who  did  you  say  ?"  exclaimed  Toney,  suddenly  catching 
at  the  negro's  final  words. 

"  Massa  Britt'n — dat  's  what  I  say." 

"  Yes,  but  his  daughter,  Nappo.  What  is  that  you  said 
about  her  ?" 

"  I  say  Missy  Annie,  Dat 's  my  young  missus — his  darter 
in  Bosson.  De  bess  missy  I  eber  seen,  an'  the  beautifullest. 
He  starve  her  to  death,  and  kill  her,  for  sart'n,  same  's  he  allers 
sware  he  would.  An'  den  he  run  'way  from  Mass'shusetts,  an' 
come  down  'ere  wid  Taskem.  An'  de  place  'ere  gwine  to  de 
debble,  now,  an'  I  'm  glad  ob  it." 

A  new  light  now  broke  in  upon  Toney's  brain.  He  re 
membered  his  mother's  maiden  name,  but  he  had  forgotten 
(if  he  ever  knew)  what  was  his  father's  name.  He  had 
never  seen  Nappo  at  home,  and  knew  nothing  of  his  early 
history  until  the  negro  now  touched  upon  it  thus  casually. 

He  took  him  away,  far  down  in  the  corn-fields  directly, 
half  .a  mile  from  the  house.  And  there  he  questioned  him 
thoroughly  regarding  Brittan's  former  career.  And  when  he 
got  through  with  him  he  was  satisfied,  for  the  first  time,  that 
Anthony  Brittan  was  his  own  grandfather  ! 

"  You  are  certain  of  all  this,  Nappo  ?  You  are  not  making 
up  this  story  to  deceive  me,  are  you  ?" 

"  No,  Massa  Mettler  !  I  don't  lie  to  you.  I  'be  no  'casion 
to  lie  to  you.  I  tell  you  de  troof,  'fore  God.  Dat  Massa 


260  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

Britt'n  's  de  biggest  vill'n  ob  de  two,  and  Taskem  's  bad  'nuff, 
de  Lord  knows." 

"  How  long  did  you  live  with.  Master  Brittan  in  Boston, 
Nappo  f " 

"  Ober  tirteen  year,  sah,  an'  I  know  him  all  ober.  Missy 
Annie  run  'way  'cause  her  farder  would  n't  let  her  see  de  gem- 
pieman  she  like.  So  she  jess  call  de  carriage  one  night,  w'en 
de  massa  wus  gone  a  fiff  'n,  an'  run  off  wid  young  Massa  El 
lison,  an'  many  him !  an'  sarb  de  ole  cuss  jess  right,  too — 
hollo  !  Massa  Mettler,  wot  debble  de  matter  wid  yer  ?"  ex 
claimed  Nappo,  as  he  observed  that  Toney's  face  suddenly 
blanched,  and  his  whole  frame  quivered  as  if  some  terrible 
sensation  had  shocked  him.  "  Wot 's  de  matter,  massa  ? 
Sick— eh  ?" 

Toney  rallied  in  a  moment,  and  replied  : 

"Nothing,  Nappo,  nothing  at  present.  I'm  better  now. 
Go  to  your  work.  And,  Nappo — " 

"  Yis,  sah." 

"  Don't  mention  this  subject  again  to  any  living  being,  will 
you  ?" 

"  No,  sah— no." 

Nappo  was  surprised,  but  he  knew  nothing  of  the  real  ef 
fect  which  his  narrative  had  thus  produced.  He  went  about 
his  work  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  and  left  Toney  standing 
amazed,  confounded,  fearfully  confused,  in  the  midst  of  his 
bitter  thoughts  ! 

He  had  long  since  made  himself  acquainted  with  his  Julie's 
history,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  but  the  adopted  child  of 
old  Brittan.  As  soon  as  Nappo  mentioned  the  name  of  Mas- 


N  A  1'  P  O     A  N  D     T  O  K  K  V  .  261 

sa  Ellison  (as  he  called  Touey's  father),  he  saw  at  a  glance 
how  he  was  surely  related  to  Brittan. 

Nappo  knew  sufficient  of  the  affair  between  Miss  Annie  and 
her  husband  to  link  the  matter  connectedly  together,  so  that 
Toney  had  no  sort  of  doubt  of  his  position,  and  he  set  about 
concluding  his  arrangements  for  quitting  Brittan's  service  at 
the  earliest  practicable  moment. 

Thus  while  Brittan  was  contriving,  under  Taskem's  secret 
advice,  to  bring  about  a  rupture  in  some  way  that  would  lead 
to  Toney's  voluntary  retirement,  Toney  himself,  all  unconscious 
of  Brittan's  disposition  in  the  matter,  was  completing  his  own 
arrangements  for  leaving  Greenville  forever. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

A    STRUGGLE     FOR    L  I  F  £ . 

Grant  us,  oh  God!  but  health  and  heart, 

And  strength  to  keep  desire  at  bay; 
And  ours  must  bo  the  better  part, 

Whatever  else  besets  our  way. 

MILNES. 

IT  was  a  hard  thing  for  Ileniy  Ellson  to  commence  once 
more  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder ! 

When  Mr.  Meeker  said  to  him,  after  he  returned  to  that 
excellent  man's  house  with  his  wife,  "  Ellson,  you  will  find 
that  you  must  stoop  a  little  for  a  while,"  the  humbled  peni 
tent  replied,  "  My  dear  friend,  I  owe  you  every  thing — every 
thing.  Rest  assured  that  I  am  ready  and  willing  to  accept 
any  employment  whatever,  any  where,  that  may  turn  up. 
Place  me  where  I  can  earn  a  subsistence  for  myself  and  wife, 
and  I  promise  you  I  shall  not  flinch  from  duty,  now !" 

And  he  was  as  good  as  his  word.  Through  the  aid  of  Mr. 
Meeker  he  shortly  obtained  a  situation  as  under-clerk  in  an 
extensive  wholesale  house  on  one  of  the  wharfs,  and  for  his 
services  he  was  to  receive  the  sum  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  a  year.  This  was  called  liberal  on  the  part  of  his  em 
ployers. 

He  had  a  wife  to  support,  too !     He  was  an  honest  man,  as 


A     8TEUGGLE     FOR     LIFE.  263 

well,  and  could  n't  steal  to  save  himself  from  starvation.  But 
"  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  was  a  great  deal  of  money, 
more  than  a  hod-carrier  or  a  sweep  could  earn  in  a  year,  and 
they  always  had  wives,  and  children,  too,  to  support.  They 
lived — and  why  could  n't  Ellson,  to  be  sure  ?"  said  his  master. 

He  could.     And  he  did  ! 

Ellson  worked  like  a  slave — morning,  noon,  and  night 
And  Annie  labored,  too ;  labored  hard  all  the  time,  and  cheer 
fully,  with  her  needle.  She  went  to  the  clothing  establish 
ments,  and  procured  garments  to  make  up,  as  she  had  done  a 
hundred  times  before  (for  Henry  had  no  leisure  to  call  for  and 
return  her  work),  and  she  received  her  pennies  for  cheap 
shirts,  or  her  shillings  for  cheap  vests,  and  earned,  sometimes, 
almost  two  dollars  in  a  single  week !  Here  was  a  fortune  for 
a  poor  woman.  Nearly  two  dollars  a  week — all  for  one 
person  ! 

"  Good  God !"  exclaimed  her  employers,  "  what  can  these 
people  do  with  all  their  money !  There  's  a  woman,  now, 
we  're  paying  two  dollars  regularly  every  week  to,  and  some 
times  more  than  that ;  and  the  young  girl  with  the  blue  rib 
bon,  that 's  just  gone  out,  she  earns  over  three  dollars  a  week, 
some  weeks.  And  yet  they  complain  that  we  don't  pay  'em 
enough — the  ungrateful  cubs !" 

But  Annie  did  n't  complain.  She  had  nothing  to  complain 
about  now !  She  took  her  work,  and  went  and  came,  and 
pocketed  the  miserable  stipend  allowed  her  without  a  mur 
mur.  Her  husband  had  reformed.  Henry  no  longer  touched 
the  poisonous  bowl.  This  was  sufficient  for  her  !  And  she 
thanked  God,  and  labored  joyfully. 

And  Henrv  never   faltered   or   murmured,  either.     Whv 


264  THE     R.AG-PICKER. 

should  he  ?  Was  n't  he  in  the  enjoyment  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  a  year  !  Which  was  over  sixty  dollars  every 
quarter,  and  upwards  of  twenty  dollars,  in  clean  money,  for 
every  month's  service  !  Almost  Jive  dollars  a  week,  for  toil 
ing,  and  running,  and  sweating,  and  fretting,  from  early  morn 
ing  to  midnight,  during  six  whole  days.  It  was  excellent  pay, 
thought  his  employers ;  and  he  ought  to  be  very  thankful 
that  he  could  get  such  a  place,  with  so  liberal  a  compensation. 

And  so  he  was.  He,  too,  thanked  the  kind  Father  who 
thus  provided  him  with  the  means  to  live  by — fo*  he  was 
faithful,  and  very  humble  now,  and  could  have  got  along  on 
something  less,  no  doubt. 

And  still  poor  Annie  plied  her  needle  vigorously.  And 
though  her  fingers  had  become  tender  and  delicate,  from  long 
disuse,  yet  she  never  ceased  to  "  stitch,  stitch,  stitch  !"  And 
when  one  shirt  was  finished,  there  was  another  lying  upon  the 
little  low  stool,  all  ready  to  go  on  with  again.  Why  should 
she  stop  ?  What  had  she  to  stop  for  ?  They  were  waiting  for 
them  at  the  store.  And  when  she  had  completed  all  that 
great  bundle,  she  could  just  carry  them  back,  and  get  another 
just  like  it,  at  the  same  price  !  Plenty  of  Avork — nobody  need 
starve  who  was  willing  to  labor.  And  Annie  ivas  willing !  It 
was — 

"Band,  arid  gusset,  and  seam — 
Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band ; 
'Till  the  heart  grew  sick,  and  the  brain  benumbed, 
As  well  as  the  weary  hand !" 

But  in  her  case,  no  one  knew  how  the  tender  wife  toiled 
on,  and  none  ever  heard  one  moan  escape  her — for  she  knew 
what  she  toiled  for,  and  her  Father  in  Heaven  sustained  her ! 


A     STRUGGLE     FOH     LIFE.  265 

They  had  taken  two  rooms  iu  a  small  house,  at  the  extreme 
end  of  Front  street,  near  the  water — the  best  they  could  get — 
for  nine  shillings  a  week.  The  house  was  located  over  two 
miles  from  Ellson's  place  of  business,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
walk  there  and  back  four  times  daily,  to  obtain  his  meals  and 
to  accomplish  his  store  duties. 

Eight  miles  a  day !  What  of  that  'I  Did  n't  he  get  seventy 
cents  for  it?  Suppose  he  did  have  to  run  round  the  city, 
from  morning  till  night,  carrying  bills  and  parcels  and  col 
lecting  accounts.  It  was  good  exercise  for  him.  Somebody 
must  do  it — why  not  he  ?  That  was  what  he  was  paid  for 
doing. 

And  the  poor  man  did  it,  gladly ! 

What  if  the  young  men  in  the  store  did  laugh  as  his  short- 
waisted  coat,  and  his  shorter-legged  pants !  He  might  have 
once  been  a  "gentleman,"  too.  And  perhaps  he  would  be 
again.  He  kept  straight  on — on  !  nor  turned  to  the  right  or 
the  left ;  and,  by  harsh  economy  and  frugality,  he  finally  be 
gan  to  see  daylight  once  more. 

He  was  naturally  pleasant  in  his  intercourse  with  every  one, 
and,  when  Ellson  was  himself,  few  men  appeared  to  better  ad 
vantage  in  society.  His  fault  was  known,  however,  and  he 
was  employed  (ostensibly)  out  of  charity.  But  he  submitted, 
without  retort  invariably,  to  abuse  or  contumely,  and  struggled 
forward,  relying  upon  God's  grace  to  support  him  amid  the 
ordeal  through  which  he  was  passing,  and  from  which  he 
hoped  to  emerge  in  triumph  at  last. 

Annie  watched  the  course  of  Henry  with  a  watchful  eye, 
and  she  saw  how  diligently  he  labored,  and  how  ardently  he 
strove  to  stand  up  amid  his  poverty  and  toil ;  and  though  she 

32 


266  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

needed  relaxation  much  more  than  he  did,  she  never  tarried 
to  think  of  herself. 

"Don't  hurry  so,  Henry — take  time  to  eat"  and  "Now, 
Henry,  go  to  bed,  and  leave  the  papers  and  books  till  to 
morrow,"  she  would  say,  as  Ellson  came  home  late  at  night, 
gulped  down  his  evening  meal,  and  worried  away  at  the 
petty  accounts  given  him  to  look  after,  at  his  leisure  ! 

But  there  was  "no  rest  for  the  sole  of  his  foot."  From 
Monday  morning  till  Saturday  night,  from  month  to  month, 
and  from  year  to  year,  his  present  prospect  was  the  same : 
run,  run,  run — write,  write,  write — work,  work,  work ! 

"With  head  and  hands  awearied  and  sore, 
Amid  anguish,  and  doubting,  and  fear, 

He  did  all  this — and  what  was  it  for? 
Why,  two  hundred  and  fifty  a  year! 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

A     DEBT     OF     HONOR     SETTLED. 

If  I  can  catcli  him  once  upon  the  hip, 

I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 

SHTLOCK. 

ANNIE  never  yielded,  and  her  health  held  out  amazingly. 
Perhaps,  dining  the  long  years  that  she  had  passed  within  the 
confines  of  the  Asylum,  she  had  gained,  or  laid  up,  a  store  of 
strength  against  this  trying  day.  Of  that  none  knew  savt 
Him  who  in  His  mercy  "tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
lamb,"  and  "  giveth  strength  to  the  feeble  who  put  their  trust 
in  Him." 

His  lynx-eyed  creditor  saw  that  he  was  alive  one  day,  and 
had  on  a  clean  shirt !  It  was  a  cheap  one,  to  be  sure,  but  he 
had  a  wife  at  home,  who  had  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  take 
care  of  his  clothes,  and  thus  he  accounted  for  Ellson's  changed 
appearance,  suddenly.  He  wanted  his  money.  Any  man 
who  can  wear  a  clean  shirt,  can  pay  his  debts,  of  course. 

"  Ellson,"  he  said,  "  I  Ve  been  lenient,  and  I  can't  wait  any 
longer  on  you.  You  must  pay  that  old  bill." 

"  I  'm  doing  my  best,  just  now,"  said  Ellsou,  "  to  live  and 
keep  free  from  new  debts ;  and  I  find  it  hard  work,  too." 

"Well,  I  must  have  it,  nevertheless,  or — 


268  T  H  E     R  A  0  -  P  I  C  K  E  K . 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you  in  a  little  time.  My  salary 
is  but  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year,  and  my  expenses 
are—" 

"  The  devil !  Two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars !"  exclaimed  his 
creditor.  "  Why,  what  on  earth  can  you  do  with  so  much 
money  ?" 

"  My  rent,"  said  Ellson,  u  is  seventy-five  dollars  a  year ;  fuel 
costs  me  twenty-five  ;  my  bills  for  lights,  and  grocer,  and 
baker,  and,  occasionally,  the  butcher,  come  to  three  dollars  a 
week,  and  that 's  a  hundred  and  fifty  more ;  this  eats  up  my 
salary.  Then  I  must  have  some  clothing,  and  my  wife  needs 
a  few  garments  once  in  a  while.  I  don't  have  a  large  amount 
left,  Mr.  Grabum,  out  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  ye.ar, 
you  see.  But  I  will  see.  My  salary  falls  due — a  quarter's 
pay — on  Saturday.  I  will  then  give  you  half  your  old  bill, 
and  the  balance  I  will  discharge  as  soon  as  I  can,  by  any  pos 
sibility — and  get  bread  to  eat,  meantime." 

"  You  say  it 's  due  Saturday  next  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  two  men  parted.  It  was  then  Thursday  afternoon. 
Ellson  had  a  few  little  bills  that  had  been  running  along  for 
the  current  quarter,  with  his  grocer  and  others  (who  had 
given  him  credit  upon  the  strength  of  Mr.  Meeker's  recom 
mendation),  and  which  he  had  thus  far  paid  up  promptly,  as 
often  as  he  got  his  salary.  At  the  end  of  the  week  he  in 
tended  to  liquidate  all\hese  little  accounts,  as  usual,  and  to 
begin  anew  again  on  Monday. 

On  Friday  morning,  his  quarter's  salary  of  sixty-two  and  a 
half  dollars  was  trusteed  in  his  employer's  hands,  at  the  suit 
of  Mr.  Grabum,  the  creditor  whom  lie  had  met  the  day  pre- 


A     DEBT     OF     IIONOK     SETTLED.  269 

viously,  and  who  had  thus  taken  "Time  by  the  forelock" 
to  secure  his  unsatisfied  judgment.  The  debt  and  costs 
amounted  to  over  fifty  dollars ;  and  this  unfeeling  wretch — 
who  could  well  have  waited  a  few  days  longer,  or  have  done 
without  the  demand  altogether,  without  injury — seized  Ellson's 
money,  and  left  him  to  manage  his  "  new  bills"  as  best  he 
might. 

It  chanced  that  Annie  had  saved  something  from  her  indi 
vidual  earnings,  however ;  and,  with  a  little  straining  and 
extra  economy  during  the  succeeding  few  weeks,  they  got 
along — though  thus  thrown  back — sadly,  for  a  while. 

But  energy,  perseverance,  and  a  reliance  on  Providence, 
will  accomplish  more  in  adversity  than  most  of  us  are  aware 
of,  who  have  never  been  put  to  the  trial.  Henry  was  sad  for 
a  few  hours,  but  his  wife  cheered  him  up,  and  he  soon  got  the 
better  of  his  ill  feeling  at  this  really  heartless  operation. 

"  I  'in  glad  he 's  got  his  money,  at  any  rate,"  said  Ellson,  at 
length.  "  That  affair  is  off  my  mind  at  all  events.  It  was  his 
just  due,  I  know,  but  he  might  have  been  a  little  more  merci 
ful.  I  pray  that  Grabum  may  never  find  himself  as  poor  as 
I  am  to-night.  If  he  should,  he  '11  know  how  sweet  it  is  to 
be  thus  treated,  if  he  is  unluckily  in  debt  at  the  same  time  !" 

"  It  is  just  as  well,  Henry.  The  debt  is  cancelled  and  out 
of  the  way.  Now  we '11  begin  again"  said  Annie,  cheerfully. 

Annie  kissed  his  "  good  angel,"  as  he  called  Annie,  now, 
and  the  affair  of  the  judgment  was  &>on  forgotten.  The  old 
debt  had  been  paid  in  full,  and  the  Ellson's  struggled  on 
again  hopefully  but  wearily,  for  over  two  long  years. 

They  had  never  yet  been  able  to  ascertain  what  had  become 
of  their  children,  though  they  continued  to  seek  diligently  and 


2*70  T  II  ERA  G -PICKER. 

constantly  for  them,  or  for  some  one  who  might  possibly  have 
heard  of  them.  But  Dolly  was  dead,  Sarah  Barns  had  dis 
appeared,  Annie's  father  had  gone  South  (she  so  learned),  and 
nothing  was  heard  of  or  from  them. 

In  the  mean  while  Toney  was  at  Greenville,  getting  ready  to 
leave  that  place,  and  Carrie  was  happy  and  contented  in  the 
society  of  old  Davy,  who  had  settled  down  permanently  at  the 
spot  where  Toney  had  lately  chanced  to  fall  upon  him,  near 
the  village  of  E . 

The  affairs  of  Brittan  were  daily  growing  worse  and  worse. 
His  losses  had  been  larger  than  he  had  any  idea  of,  and  his 
gambling  horse-racing  obligations  had  devoured  several  thou 
sands  of  dollars  of  his  ready  funds. 

Taskem  kept  a  watchful  eye  upon  Avhat  was  transpiring, 
and  spent  much  of  his  time,  latterly,  at  Brittan'a  house,  where 
he  had  recently  arrived  with  a  brace  of  slaves,  fresh  from 
Missouri ;  and  where  he  was  engaged,  just  at  present,  in  a 
somewhat  important  negotiation  with  old  Brittan. 

Nappo  and  Toney  had  had  several  secret  interviews  to 
gether,  since  the  first  information  had  been  dropped  in  refer 
ence  to  Brittan's  early  history,  and  an  explosion  was  in  pro 
spective  at  the  Greenville  plantation — and  not  far  distant ! 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

THE      TWO      QUADROONS. 

"  Oh !  they  were  fair,  and  beautiful 
To  look  upon — that  loving,  humble  twain. 
I  saw  them — sisters— when  the  bloom  of  health 
And  beauty  graced  their  cheeks ;  and,  trust  me, 
They  were  passing  fair." 

"  I  DON'T  want  but  one  of  'em,  you  see,  Taskem.  One  of 
'em  I  can  do  very  well  with,"  said  Brittan. 

"  Miss  Julie  'd  like  the  other,  then,  I  presume,"  replied  the 
slave-trader,  significantly.  "  I  Ve  bought  both  ov  'em,  an'  I 
made  no  doubt  yer  'd  jump  at  'em,  soon 's  you  seen  'em. 
They're  the  two  pertiest  yaller  gals  I've  come  across  this 
five  year,  an'  I  can  put  'em  to  yer  cheap,  'cause  the  owner  had 
to  sell  out.  The  two  '11  cost  yer  little  risin'  four  thousand 
dollars,  and  they  're  wuth  that  to  look  at.  One  on  'em  's  got 
<i  child  six  year  old,  too,  an'  that 's  throw'd  in.  She  's  a  leetle 
high  strung,  but  Beck  '11  manage  her,  an'  the  young  'un." 

"  And  the  boy  ?" 

"  Yes ;  he 's  a  rosy-cheeked  little  feller,  bright 's  a  new 
button,  and  as  white — well,  as  white  as  any  buddy.  The 
mother 's  on'y  quarter-blood,  yer  see." 

"  Where  are  they  now  ?" 


272  THE     BAG- PICKER. 

"  In  quod.  I  '11  fetch  'em,"  said  Taskenv  And  an  hour 
afterward  the  slave-catcher  produced  the  two  women  and  the 
child  at  Brittan's  residence. 

They  were  quadroons,  and  sisters.  The  owner  of  them  had 
been  what  is  termed  a  humane  master.  That  is,  he  had  but 
a  few  slaves,  and  these  two  he  had  brought  up  from  infancy. 
They  came  originally  from  Louisiana.  The  master  settled  in 
Missouri,  and,  as  they  were  remarkably  handsome  girls,  he 
permitted  them  to  grow  up  under  his  own  guardianship,  for 
his  own  reasons  !  When  ISTora  (the  eldest)  came  to  be  sixteen 
years  old  she  gave  birth  to  the  boy  she  now  had  with  her. 
The  child  would  scarcely  be  suspected  of  having  a  drop  of 
negro  blood  in  his  veins,  so  fair  was  his  skin,  and  so  perfect 
were  his  handsomely-formed  features.  Who  the  father  of  the 
child  was  did  not  transpire,  and  nobody  seemed  to  care  for 
this  trifling  circumstance.  Nora  Jcncio  who  his  mother  was, 
and  that  was  sufficient  for  her  !  The  youngest  of  the  girls 
was  about  eighteen,  and  a  beautiful  creature  she  was,  too. 
These  three — j$Tora,  Katty,  and  Buff  (the  boy) — were  the  last 
that  remained  in  the  finally  bankrupt  Missourian's  possession. 
Taskem  bought  them  together,  and  brought  them  to  Green 
ville  to  sell  to  Brittan. 

The  moment  that  the  old  Englishman  set  his  eyes  on  them, 
he  called  Taskem  into  a  side  room,  and,  notwithstanding  his 
years  and  experience,  he  said  : 

"  Taskem,  you  're  a  good  judge — a  capital  judge.  How 
much  did  you  say  ?" 

"  Forty-three  hunder'd  dollars." 

"  For  the  three  ?n 

"  Yes." 


THE     TWO     QUADROONS.  '2*73 

"  But,  I— a— that  is— that  is— the  boy.  That  brat  I  don't 
want,  you  see,  no  how.  His  mother  's  a  beauty.  /  want  her. 
I  s'poze  it 's  his  mother  ?" 

"  Yes— yes." 

"  Well,  I  want  her,  but  the  brat  must  go  away.  I  '11  pay  you 
— I  '11  give  you  your  price — forty-three  hundred — but  you  '11 
take  the  boy  away,  won't  you  ?  And  sell  him — sell  him,  Task- 
em,  and  account  to  me  some  other  time.  That 's  it.  But  he 
must  n't  stay  here  at  all ;  he  's  too  white — too  white — a  damn 
sight,  you  see !  It  won't  do.  And  besides,  I  don't  want  no  in- 
curnbrauces  with  her,  y'ou  see.  Un'stand  ?" 

"  Edzackly.     /  onderstand,  old  boy.     I  see — I  see — " 

"  Well,  then,  you  '11  take  him  off  with  you  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  I  'm  to  give  you  forty-three  hundred  dollars  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  sell  the  boy,  and — " 

"  Yes,  edzackly — 's  all  right.     I  see." 

"  Very  well.  I  have  n't  the  money  just  now.  I  Ve  got  to 
raise  a  five  thousand  mortgage  on  the  place  to  get  through 
the  season  with  'till  the  crops  come  in  again,  and  I'll  make  it 
eight  thousand,  you  see,  so  's  you  can  have  the  '  ready'  in  a 
few  weeks.  Give  me  a  bill  o'  sale  of  'em  at  forty-three  hun 
dred,  you  know,  and  they  're  mine." 

"  All  right,"  said  Taskem  ;  "  yere  it  is,  an'  yer  can  give  me 
yer  note  on  demand,  yer  see,  an'  that  '11  fix  it  all  correct 
'tween  us." 

This  being  concluded  the  papers  were  duly  passed,  and  the 
two  men  returned  to  the  room  where  the  women  and  the  boy 
had  been  left — Taskem  to  give  them  what  he  was  pleased  in 

12* 


2*74  THE     RAG-PICK  EH. 

his  facetiousness  to  term  "  a  friendly  lectur'  at  partin',"  and 
Brittan  to  take  possession  of  his  handsome  "  property." 

"Now,  gals,"  said  the  amiable  Mr.  Ralph  Taskcm,  of  Ten 
nessee,  "  I  've  brought  ycr  to  yer  new  home  here,  in  Kain- 
tucky,  and  this  is  yer  new  marster,  Mr.  Brittan,  who  treats 
all  his  niggers  fust  rate,  allers,  ef  they  b'haves  well,  and 
does  n't  give  him  no  sarce,  nor  put  on  no  airs.  He  's  a  mild 
man,  an'  a  good  un,  when  he  has  n't  no  reason  to  be  other- 
ways  ;  an'  I  've  told  him  all  about  yer,  an'  what  yer  ken  both 
do.  Yer  '11  be  kep'  in  the  house,  yere,  he  says,  and  he  won't 
put  no  hard  labor  onto  nyther  ov  yer,  ef  yere  quiet,  an'  don't 
give  him  no  trouble.  Ef  yer  do,  he  an'  Beck  '11  see  'at  yer 
come  to  yer  milk  agin,  straitways,  do  yer  mind.  Yer  know 
Beck,  Nora,  don't  yer  ?" 

The  girl  did  not  reply,  but  tossed  her  head  and  smiled  at 
her  sister,  who  stood  close  to  her  side. 

"  I  thought  yer  'd  'member  Beck,"  continued  Taskein,  with 
a  leer  toward  Brittan  ;  "  he  knows  both  on  yer,  like  a  book. 
So,  steady  now !  an'  there  '11  be  no  trouble." 

With  this  friendly  advice,  which  seemed  to  have  had  about 
as  much  weight  with  the  two  girls  as  if  it  had  been  addressed 
to  the  old  oaken  chimney-piece,  Mr.  Ralph  Taskem  bowed 
himself  out — as  the  side  door  opened,  and  Miss  Julie  entered 
the  apartment,  without  knowing  who  was  there. 

The  two  quadroons  were  very  prettily  attired,  for  their  last 
owner  had  indulged  them  in  their  passion  for  dress  to  a  cer 
tain  extent.  So  neatly  were  their  habits  arranged,  that,  as 
as  they  stood  with  their  bonnets  in  their  hands,  Julie  mistook 
them  for  some  of  her  guardian's  lady-friends ;  and  blushing 
as  she  advanced,  she  said — 


THE     TWO     QUADROONS.  275 

"  Your  pardon,  ladies — I  was  not  aware — " 

"  Ladies  /"  said  Brittan,  quickly  dispelling  this  illusion. 
"  These  are — these  are  Nora  and  Katty — I  've  just  got  'em, 
Julie." 

"  Oh  !  what  a  darling  boy,  too  !"  continued  Julie,  running 
toward  the  pretty  curly-headed  son  of  Nora,  and  stooping  to 
kiss  him,  all  unsuspectingly.  "  Why,  what 's  your  name  ?" 

"  Buff,"  said  the  boy,  quickly. 

"  Whose  boy  are  you  ?" 

"  He  's  mine,  miss,"  replied  Nora,  pleasantly. 

"Yours  !     You  his  mother  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss." 

Julie  was  astounded ! 

Brittan  came  to  her  aid  at  once.  "  Yes,"  said  he,  "  they  're 
all  mine — yours — ours,  that  is.  I  bought  one  for  you,  and 
the  other  to — to  wait  upon  me,  me,  you  see,  Julie — in  the 
house,  here." 

"  Bought  them  ?  And  this  child,  too  ?  Why,  he  is  n't — 
they  are  not  slaves,  are  they  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  They  can  wash,  and  cook,  and  do  muslins, 
and — and,  a  great  many  things  'bout  house.  And  we  want 
them  here  very  much — eh,  Julie  ?" 

His  ward  could  make  no  reply.  She  saw  what  she  did  not 
want  to  see — what  she  blushed  to  think  of !  She  saw,  at 
a  glance,  that  these  two  beautiful  but  unfortunate  girls 
had  been  purchased  by  her  guardian,  undoubtedly,  for  a  vile 
and  wicked  purpose,  because  she  knew  that  no  more  house- 
servants  were  wanted  or  needed  ! 

And  Brittau  was  over  sixty  years  old,  too  !     But  there  was 


270  THE     RAG-PIC  KE  JR. 

no  good  obtained  by  opposing  his  whims  or  his  plans,  as  Julie 
very  well  knew.  And  so  she  said — 

"  I  suppose  we  do  want  them.  They  shall  attend  upon  me, 
and  I  '11  make  them  very  useful  to  me — eh,  girls  ?  Would 
you  like  me  for  a  mistress  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  !"  said  both  the  quadroons  at  once.  "  Yes, 
missy — that  would  be  nice,"  said  Nora. 

"  One  of  'em — Rally's  for  you,  Julie,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  and  Nora  will  wait  upon  me? 

"  Yes.  Well,  I  '11  take  them  both  now,  and  show  'cm  about 
the  house,"  said  Julie,  in  her  own  way.  "  Come,  girls — come, 
Buff!"  and  away  they  went,  leaving  Brittan  to  make  his  cal 
culations  as  to  his  future  prospects  with  Nora,  whose  face  and 
form  he  liked  the  best. 

Beck,  the  overseer,  was  in  the  stable  when  they  came,  but 
he  did  not  see  Taskem,  and  was  not  apprised  of  their  arrival. 

As  Nora  and  Katty  were  following  Julie  around  the  house, 
examining  the  premises,  and  listening  to  their  new  young  mis 
tress'  advice,  Buff  strolled  out  at  the  back  door,  and  ven 
tured  into  the  stable.  He  was  nicely  dressed  up,  too,  and 
Beck  seeing  him,  mistook  him  for  a  son  of  some  gentleman 
who  might  be  on  a  temporary  visit  to  Brittan,  perhaps. 

"  Hollo,  my  fine  fellow !"  he  said,  approaching  the  young 
ster.  "  How  do  ?" 

"  Pooty  \vell,"  said  the  boy. 

"  And  where  do  you  come  from — eh  ?" 

"  I  don'no,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Don't  know  ?     What 's  your  name  ?" 

"  Buff.     Mother  's  in  de  'oiise." 

"  And  who  is  mother  ?" 


THE     TWO     QUADROONS.  277 

"Who?  W'y,  Nora.  There  she  is!"  shouted  the  little 
fellow,  merrily,  and  running  toward  his  mother,  who,  with 
Katty  and  their  mistress,  walked  to  the  lawn,  and  sat  down 
under  the  shade  of  the  big  old  oaks  at  the  side  of  the  house. 

Beck  eyed  the  new-comers  for  some  time,  but  he  could  not 
make  out  who  or  what  they  were.  So  he  went  into  the 
kitchen,  where  old  Aunt  Flurry  (the  cook)  was  busy,  and 
asked — 

"  Who  are  them  on  the  green,  yonder !" 

"  I  don'no,  sah,"  said  the  cook.  "  I  seed  'em  wid  misses, 
jiss  now — don'no  who  dey  is.  Yaller  gals,  reck'n,  dough." 

"  Yaller  girls  ?     Wen  d'  they  come  ?" 

"  Don'no — reck'n  in  forenoon." 

Beck  could  ascertain  nothing  from  the  dull  old  black  cook, 
and  so  he  returned  to  his  business,  eyeing  the  two  strangers 
impudently  as  he  passed  along  to  the  stable  again. 

Taskem  returned  to  Erittan's,  after  two  hours'  absence,  and 
they  sat  down  over  a  bottle  of  sherry,  to  discuss  the  matter 
of  his  new  purchase. 

"  How  'd  you  like  'em «" 

"  Beautiful !  They  're  nice  girls.  It 's  all  right,  Taskem," 
continued  Brittan,  rubbing  his  hands — "  all  fixed.  Julie  takes 
Katty,  and  Nora  serves  me — attends  me,  you  see." 

"Yes;  I  see." 

"  Just  as  I  wanted  it.  They  're  outside,  now — on  the  green. 
Beautiful !  I  've  been  lookin'  at  em  through  the  blind,  here. 
Devilish  nice,  that  Nora  ?  Plump  as  a  duck.  Now,  about 
the  boy  .*» 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  edzackly  'bout  him,"  said  Taskem. 
'*  Yer  see,  the?e  nigger  wenches  sometimes  takes  on  like  devils 


278  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

ef  you  take  away  their  young  uns  ;  that  is,  some  on  'em  do. 
Now  I  have  seen  'em  'at  would  n't  say  a  word  when  you 
robbed  'em  of  their  children,  no  more  'n  a  crow  would  ef  yer 
stole  her  eggs  out  the  nest.  But  some  on  'em  git  fiery, 
and  riley,  and  obstroperlous.  Nora 's  one  o'  them  kind ;  an' 
'nless  yer  git  the  boy  away  quiet  like,  w'en  she  don't  know  it, 
she  might  make  a  little  noise,  an.'  yer  could  n't  manage  her  so 
well  to  do  what  yer  want  arterward,  I  reck'n.  She  's  a  devil, 
when  she  's  started,  is  Nora,  an'  she  thinks  a  heap  o'  that 
young  'un." 

This  did  n't  please  Brittan,  at  all. 

"  I  won't  have  the  brat  left  here,"  he  said,  "  any  way.  Take 
him  off  with  you,  when  you  leave.  Sell  him  for  whatever  you 
can  get — but  carry  him  away,  you  understand.  I  don't  want 
him  left  where  she  can  find  him,  either." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Taskem.  "  I  '11  manage  him.  Leave  it 
be.  I  '11  fix  him.  Beck  '11  help." 

And  after  they  had  drank  up  their  wine,  Taskem  went  out 
to  confer  with  his  old  friend,  the  overseer — Lewy  Beck. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 


THE     TABLES     TURNING. 


"  There  is  a  point  at  which 
Forbearance  ceases  to  be  a  virtue." 


"  Dm  n't  know  'em  ?"  said  Taskem  to  his  old  chum  Beck,  as 
the  latter  expressed  his  surprise  that  the  two  women  were 
Nora  and  Katty,  whom  he  had  seen  a  thousand  times  before, 
in  Missouri,  "  did  n't  know  'em  ?  Well,  that  is  a  good  'un." 

"  Well,  Railf,  I  hain't  seen  the  gals  fer  five  year  'n  more, 
ycr  know.  An'  that  mighty  fine  riggin'  they  'd  on  tuk  me 
down,  yer  see.  I  did  n't  go  very  close  to  'em,  an'  the  boy  I 
did  n't  'member,  o'  course ;  he 's  grown  up  sence.  I  sware,  ef 
I  didn't  take  that  brat  to  be  one  of  old  Brittan's  friends' 
young  ones,  I  'm  a  liar  !  Wen  he  come  inter  the  stable,  yere, 
I  begun  to  coax  and  play  with  him,  'sposin'  he  belonged  to 
some  visitor ;  an'  he 's  so  white  and  fair  it 's  hard  tellin',  arn't 
it  ?  An'  arter  all  he 's  nuthin'  but  a  damn  little  nigger !" 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  roared  Taskem,  who  could  laugh,  occasionally,  at 
what  he  deemed  such  a  joke  ;  "  ha,  ha !  Beck.  I  'd  like  to  'a 
seen  yer  hugg'n  and  kiss'n  'im,  though !" 

"  Bah  /"  cried  Beck,  throwing  from  his  filthy  mouth  a  huge 
quid  of  tobacco,  as  if  his  stomach  wore  turned  at  the  bare 


280  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

recollection  that  ho  had  placed  his  rough  beard  .in  contact 
with  Buff's  fair  cheek !  " "Well,  ef  he  stops  yere"  continued 
the  brute  overseer,  "  an'  I  can  get  a  shy  at  'im,  I  '11  pay  him 
off;  dam'd  ef  I  don't,  thbugh  !" 

"  Pay  him  ?  fer  w'ot  ?"  said  Taskem,  grinning  again. 

"  Fer — fer — his  'nfernal  saace  !  He  did  n't  tell  me  he  wus 
a  nasty  darn  pic'ninny." 

"  But  he  won't  stop  yere,"  said  Taskem,  at  last. 

"  No  ?"  queried  the  overseer. 

"  No.  Brittan  swears  he  won't  hev  'im  about,  no  way.  He 
wants  Nora.  The  old  man 's  smashed  with  her,  sart'n  ;  jest  as 
I  s'posed  he  'd  be,  yer  see.  That 's  Avot  I  got  her  fer.  She 's 
to  be  a  /iowse-sarvant,  he  !  he !  Yer  know  w'ot  purty  yaller 
house-sarvants  is,  eh  ?"  said  Taskem,  sticking  his  tongue  into 
his  cheek,  significantly. 

"  But,  how 's  the  boy  goin'  away  ?" 

"  I  'm  to  fix  that  fer  'em." 

"  Won't  she  tear  like  the  devil,  though  ?" 

"  Nobody  keeres  fer  that,  yer  know.  Ef  she  goes  to  gittin' 
on  her  high  hoss,  I  tell  Britt'n  ter  turn  her  out  to  ye r  keer ; 
an'  ef  yer  can't  fix  her  flint  for  'er,  it  'ud  be  a  pity,  eh  ?  The 
boy  '11  go,  sure.  I  ken  git  three  hunde'rd  for  'im,  any  day,  in 
Memphis ;  and  that  '11  be  a'most  clear  gain,  yer  see." 

Lewis,  or  Lcwy  Beck,  as  the  overseer  was  familiarly  called, 
had  been  bred  to  his  business ;  and  he  was  a  coarse,  rough-man 
nered,  selfish,  brutal  being,  whom  long  experience  in  his  wicked 
calling  had  rendered  entirely  callous  to  all  signs  of  human 
feelings  in  his  own  person.  With  scourge  in  hand,  from  sun 
rise  to  dark,  he  sought  no  occupation  or  amusement  more  to 
his  taste  than  that  of  drivim?  the  miserable  creatures  that  fell 


THE     TABLES     TURNING.  281 

under  his  charge  up  to  the  very  last  tension  of  their  strength, 
in  the  fields  where  they  toiled ;  and  his  requirements  were 
peremptory,  harsh,  unreasonable  and  cruel,  because  he  loved 
to  tyrannize  over  his  hands,  and  preferred  the  use  of  the  whip, 
when  he  could  get  along  much  better  even  without  it.  His 
inhumanity  was  proverbial,  and  for  this  reason,  chiefly,  he  was 
esteemed  by  Brittan,  who  quickly  sympathized  with  him,  and 
gave  him  unlimited  power  over  his  slaves. 

"Beck  knows  his  business,"  the  Englishman  would  say. 
"  He  knows  what  niggers  need.  He  '11  get  the  work  out  of 
'em.  Beck  's  a  trump." 

And  so  the  overseer  never  heard  oT  appeal  to  the  real  mas 
ter  of  the  place,  when  he  scourged  and  flayed  the  hands,  with 
or  without  a  cause. 

Julie  was  greatly  pleased  with  Nora  and  Katty ;  and  little 
Buff  was  so  pert,  so  pretty,  and  so  active,  that  she  took  a  fancy 
to  him  directly. 

"  Buff  shall  be  my  boy,"  she  said  to  Nora,  in  her  artless- 
ness,  "  and  I  will  teach  him  to  read  and  write  ;  and  he  shall 
ride  on  Miss  Julie's  pony ;  and  he  '11  come  to  be  a  great  man 
one  o'  these  clays.  Won't  that  be  very  nice,  Buff  '<" 

Buff  sidled  up  to  his  mother,  and  said  : 

"  I  want  to  be  mudder's  boy,  an'  I  want  to  ride  missus'  pony !" 

Julie  smiled  at  this  shrewd  reply,  and  said  again  : 

"  So  you  shall,  Buff.  You  shall  be  mother's  boy,  and  you 
shall  ride  upon  Miss  Julie's  pony,  too." 

"Nora  pressed  her  loved  one  closely  to  her  side,  and 
looked  anxiously  in  his  face. 

"  He 's  a-cbarming  boy,"  said  Julie.  "  Don't  you  love  him 
dearly  ?" 


282  THE     BAG-PICKEK. 

"  Yis,  missus,"  replied  Nora.  "  He 's  my  chile,  and  yet  he 
is  n't,  yer  know.  I  often  fear,  now  that  good  old  master  's 
bin  'bleged  to  let  us  go  from  him,  that  I  '11  lose  Buff  some 
day ;  an'  then  I  sh'ud  die  sart'n.  I  'm  'feered  he  can't  allers 
be  with  me.  They  can  take  him  away  from  me,  an'  sell  him, 
yer  know,  missus,  when  they  Ve  a  mind.  But  I  shall  go  with 
him  as  long 's  I  ken,  any  how." 

"  You  need  have  no  fears  on  that  score  here,  Nora.  Master 
Brittan  won't  separate  you,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Beck's  a  bad  man,"  said  Nora.  "  He  don't  like  us,  me 
an'  Katty.  I  know'd  him — we  know'd  him  to  home.  He 
wanted  me  to  live  with  'him  onc't ;  an'  'cause  I  peached  on 
him  to  master,  he 's  hated  me,  an'  Katty,  too,  ever  sence. 
He 's  here,  so  Master  Taskem  said,  an'  I  'm  'feered  he  '11  seek 
revenge  on  us  'n  some  way." 

Katy  was  silent.  Her  fears  were  excited,  too,  when  Taskem 
informed  them  that  the  wretch  Beck  might  possibly  be 
brought  in  contact  with  Nora  and  herself;  but  she  listened 
only  to  what  was  said,  without  offering  any  exhibition  of  her 
suspicions.  And  to  have  seen  the  two  quadroon  girls,  as 
they  reclined  there  upon  the  bright  lawn — calm  and  pen 
sive  and  qtiiet  as  two  unoffending  lambs,  no  one  would 
have  suspected  that  either  of  them  possessed  the  first  spark 
of  violence  or  pride  of  spirit  in  their  seemingly  listless  com 
positions. 

And  yet,  as  Beck  had  suggested,  (and  lie  knew  it !)  when 
Nora  was  aroused  she  was  as  wild,  as  reckless  and  as  fero 
cious  as  an  untamed  tigress !  The  two  girls  had  been 
carefully  reared  (for  slaves),  and  their  old  master  had  per 
mitted  them  both  to  learn  to  read.  They  had  been  exposed 


THE     TABLES    TURNING.  283 

to  no  physical  personal  abuse  thus  far  (if  one  could  judge 
from  their  appearance),  and  they  yet  had  a  good  deal  to 
learn ! 

"  As  to  Beck,"  said  Julie,  kindly,  "  you  need  n't  fear  him  ; 
he  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  you  so  long  as  you  remain 
at  the  house." 

"  But — the  boy,  missus.  He  knows  how  I  lub  him,  and 
he  '11  be  hard  with  me  in  that  way  if  he  can." 

"  The  boy  shall  remain  with  us,  within  doors,  Nora.  He 
can  be  of  small  use  outside,  at  present.  I  will  see  to 
that." 

"  Thank  yer,  missus ;  thank  yer,"  said  Nora,  but  still 
doubtfully,  for  she  could  not  control  her  fears,  somehow,  that 
Buff  would  be  torn  away  from  her  through  Beck's  influence ; 
and  as  they  returned  to  the  house  the  girls  saw  him. 

"  There  he  is,"  said  Katty,  quickly. 

"  I  see  him,"  responded  Nora,  "  an'  I  reck'n  he  has  n't  fer- 
got  us,  eyther.  He  feels  mighty  nice  yere,  I  've  no  doubt, 
whar  he  can  swing  his  whip  as  he  pleases !" 

"  Yer  ken  go  right  along,  gals,"  said  the  brute  to  himself, 
glancing  at  them  sulkily,  "  go  right  'long  now.  The  brat  '11 
be  taken  keer  of  ter-night ;  an'  I  '11  have  them  fine  close  off 
yer  backs  afore  a  month  's  gone,  or  I  'm  somebuddy  else  be 
sides  Lewy  Beck,  mind  yer.  I  reck'n  yer  think  yer  '11  hev 
a  good  time,  now,  with  the  soft-hearted  missus  yer  Ve  got  in 
tow  !  Ha,  ha  !  Never  mind.  I  allers  reck'ned  it  ud  come 
round  right  sometime  or  other.  Go  right  'long — right  'long !" 
and  a  fiendish  chuckle  succeeded  as  Beck  disappeared  within 
the  stable  once  more. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  yer  not  ter  let  that  hoss  drink,  yer  dam 


284  THE     UAG-PICKEU. 

fool !  Did  n't  I  tell  yer  so  ?"  shouted  Beck,  as  lie  entered  the 
building  and  saw  Nappo  watering  one  of  the  young  animals 
at  the  trough. 

Nappo  had  misunderstood  Beck's  directions,  and  thought 
he  had  told  him  to  water  him. 

"  I  tort  yer  said  water  de  colt,  massa,"  responded  Nappo, 
instantly. 

Beck  waited  for  no  reply,  but  as  Nappo  spoke  he  seized  a 
billet  of  wood  that  lay  at  hand,  and  with  a  powerful  blow  on 
the  negro's  head  and  shoulders,  felled  poor  Nappo  to  the 
stable  floor  as  suddenly  as  if  his  victim  had  been  struck  down 
by  a  thunder-bolt ! 

"  Carn't  I  beat  noiKn  through  yer  dam  thick  ugly  skull  ?" 
roared  Beck,  as  he  followed  up  his  blows  again  and  again 
with  the  club  he  had  caught  up  in  his  frenzy,  and  with  which 
he  belabored  Nappo  unmercifully  for  two  or  three  minutes. 
"  Won't  yer  never  larn  nuthin',  yer  lazy  mis' able  dam  son  of 
a  wench  !  I  '11  see  'f  I  carn't  teach  yer,  then."  And  at  him 
he  went  again,  with  the  fury  of  a  madman,  catching  his 
thong,  that  he  suddenly  discovered  on  the  floor  where  he  had 
left  it,  and  scoring  and  lashing  the  prostrate  Nappo — who 
had  been  stunned  by  the  first  blow,  and  was  helpless — until 
the  wretch  was  absolutely  exhausted  and  fagged  out  with  his 
fearful  and  brutal  efforts. 

The  unlucky  negro  staggered  to  his  feet  at  last,  cut  and 
flayed  and  shockingly  bruised,  and  bleeding  frightfully,  when 
his  eye  fell  upon  Toney,  who  had  just  arrived  from  the  fields 
below,  and  overhearing  the  scuffle  and  the  groans  of  Nappo, 
hurried  into  the  building. 

"  What 's  the  trouble,  Mr.  Beck  ?     Good  God  !     Nappo," 


T  HE     TABLES     T  U  K  N  INC.  28i') 

exclaimed  Toney,  as  he  saw  the  terrible  condition  the  favorite 
servant  was  in,  "  what  have  you  been  doing  ?" 

"  Doin' !"  responded  Beck,  angrily,  and  gasping  with  his 
rage  and  over  exertion  ;  "  he  's  bin  a-doin'  jest  wot  I  told  him 
not  ter  do.  An'  I  Ve  lamm'd  him  fer  it.  An'  I  hain't  done 
with  'im  yit,  nyther.  I  '11  kill  him,  dam  him  !  afore  I  '11  get 
through  with  him,  see  'f  I  don't !" 

"  You  had  much  better  kill  him,  Mr.  Beck,  outright,  than 
to  mutilate  the  poor  fellow  in  this  awful  manner,"  said  Toney, 
civily,  but  with  firmness. 

"  I  don't  want  nun  o'  yer  advice,  nyther.  I  know  wot  I  'm 
about,  an'  I  '11  lick  him  or  any  o'  the  rest  uv  'em,  when  I  like, 
how  I  like,  an'  as  much  as  I  like — yer  onderstand,  now.  An' 
ef  yer  come  yere  to  interfere  with  me,  yer  '11  git  sarved  wus  'n 
I  sarve  them,  mind  yer  !" 

"  Personally,  I  stand  in  no  fear  of  such  wretches  as  you 
are,"  replied  Toney. 

"  Take  care  wot  yer  say,  now — take  care  !"  said  Beck,  turn 
ing  briskly  toward  Toney,  Avhile  Nappo  still  stood  on  the 
floor,  covered  with  gashes  and  blood.  "  Don't  yer  say  too 
much  !  I  can't  6m/1  much,"  continued  Beck. 

"  I  say  I  have  no  fears  of  you,  personally,  Beck.  Such 
loud-barking  dogs  rarely  bite  except  they  attack  some  poor 
cur  that  may  be  their  inferior  in  strength.  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  this  hour's  work  to  the  latest  moment  of  your 
life,  Beck  !  I  will  not  provoke  you  intentionally,  but  I  warn 
you  to  be  cautious  how  you  menace  me." 

"  Leave  the  stable  !  Leave  the  building  !"  screamed  Beck 
amid  his  ire,  and  raising  his  arm  again  as  if  he  purposed 
to  fall  upon  Toney  in  his  unsatisfied  rage. 


286  THEIlAG-l'iCKK  K . 

"  Don't  yer  tech  him  /"  shouted  Nappo,  forgetting  his  own 
position  and  every  thing  else  for  the  moment.  "  Don't  yer 
go  tech  Massa  Toney.  Yer  may  beat  Nappo — yer  can  mash 
dis  head  in,  but  yer  must  n't  go  ter  tech  Massa  Mettler  !" 

And  before  either  Toney  or  Beck  had  time  to  prevent  it, 
Nappo  rushed  upon  the  overseer  with  the  fury  of  a  demon, 
and,  griping  him  firmly  at  the  throat  in  his  two  powerful 
hands,  he  hurled  him  headlong  to  the  great  rear  door  of  the 
stable,  and  dashed  him  heavily  down  the  long  stone  steps  out 
into  the  muck-heap  ! 

As  the  form  of  Beck  descended  the  stairway  thus  uncere 
moniously,  his  head  and  face  came  into  sudden  contact  with 
the  edges  of  the  ragged  steps,  and  he  was  badly  injured  as 
well  as  stunned  by  his  fall. 

He  lay  in  the  wet  filth  for  a  moment,  but  soon  recovered, 
and  rushed  up  the  stairs  again. 

Toney  had  closed  and  fastened  the  back  door  and  retired 
at  once  to  the  house.  Nappo  concluded  to  show  "  a  clean 
pair  of  heels"  for  once,  and  as  soon  as  Beck  fell  from  his 
grasp  he  dashed  away  for  the  nearest  woods,  leaving  Toney 
to  arrange  the  affair  in  his  absence,  though  not  without  the 
latter's  advice. 

"  Run,  Nappo,  run  !"  said  Toney,  quickly.  "  He  '11  murder 
you  if  you  don't.  Run  !  I'll  take  care  of  myself.  He  won't 
harm  me." 

"  I  tink  he  will  kill  me  dis  time,"  suggested  Nappo. 

"  Go  !"  said  Toney. 

And  Nappo  did  go  without  further  urging. 

When  Beck  got  fairly  upon  his  feet  and  saw  the  shocking 
plight  he  was  in — besmeared  as  he  was  from  crown  to  foot 


THE     TABLES    T  U  It  N  I  N  G  .  287 

with  blood  and  slime  and  muck,  and  found  the  door  locked 
upon  him,  too — he  was  desperately  enraged. 

But  his  bruises  were  severe,  and  he  finally  cooled  off  a  lit 
tle,  and  turned  to  take  care  of  himself  for  the  present,  bitterly 
swearing  to  be  avenged,  however,  upon  Toney  and  Nappo  for 
this  spicy  affair,  in  which  he  had  been  thus  ludicrously 
worsted. 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

THE    OVERSEER'S   REVENGE. 

"  HE  'LL  be  out  ter  night,  Jake,"  said  Beck,  to  a  huge 
negro  near  him,  on  the  evening  after  the  fracas ;  "he  '11  show 
his  mug  pretty  soon.  Mettler  's  told  him  to  keep  shady,  I  Ve 
no  doubt ;  and  he  '11  find  work  for  'im,  so  's  I  shan't  git  a  shy 
at  him.  Keep  yer  eye  open.  I  '11  go  over  to  the  cabin.  Wen 
he  comes  bring  him  along  with  yer,  and  don't  let  him  know 
I  'in  'round,  d'  ye  hear  ?" 

"  Yis,  massa — I  heer." 

"  Very  well.     See  't  yer  fetch  'im." 

"  Yis,  sah." 

Nappo  had  not  forgot  the  flaying  he  had  had  in  the  morn 
ing,  either ;  and  he  knew  very  well  that  if  Beck  got  a  chance 
at  him,  he  would  be  likely  to  repeat  the  dose,  and  "  double- 
up"  on  it,  for  the  resistance  he  had  then  made.  But  he  did 
not  entertain  the  slightest  idea  of  putting  himself  in  Beck's 
way.  Toncy  would  require  all  his  day  services,  and  they  be 
lieved  they  had  arranged  the  rest  so  that  Nappo  would  not  be 
likely  to  fall  in  Beck's  Avay  at  all  for  the  present.  The  future 
Nappo  "  reckoned"  would  take  care  of  itself.  His  plans  were 
laid ! 


THE    OVERSEER'S    REVENGE.  289 

Bnt  he  could  not  well  avoid  going  down  to  quarters  at 
night ;  and,  as  soon  as  he  reached  his  cabin,  he  suddenly 
found  himself  secured  in  the  stout  arms  of  the  negro  Jake, 
who  never  liked  Nappo  from  the  hour  he  came  upon  the 
place,  and  who  was  now  backed  up  by  Beck  himself.  Nappo 
was  surprised  again,  but  it  was  too  late  to  retreat. 

"Now,  Jake — Lupy — up  with  him!71  shouted  Beck,  as 
Nappo  entered — "  up  with  him !" 

And  poor  Nappo  found  himself  triced  up  by  his  wrists  to  a 
stout  beam,  in  less  time  than  we  can  here  record  the  fact. 

In  the  next  moment  he  was  stripped  to  the  skin,  and  the 
slaves  were  all  summoned  into  the  low  dirty  room  to  witness 
the  flogging. 

"  Now,  boys,  yer '11  see  w'ot  yer'll  git,"  said  Beck,  "'f'u 
don't  b'have  yerselfs  an'  mind  yer  bisness.  This  nigger 's 
bin  saasy  's  well 's  lazy,  an'  I  'm  goin'  to  take  some  o'  the  bad 
blood  out  uv  'im.  Now,  give  it  to  him,  Jake — do  yer  mind. 
An'  ef  yer  don't  put  it  on,  clean  up  ter  the  handle,  I  '11  give 
you  w'ot  b'longs  to  him,  mind  yer ! 

" An'  as  for  you"  he  added,  shaking  his  huge  fist  in  Nap- 
po's  face,  with  bitter  malice,  "  as  for  you — it 's  mighty  onfre- 
queut  that  /  tells  a  nigger  w'ot  I  licks  him  fer.  But  yer 
need  n't  think  yer  ken  play  yer  possum  game  with  that  white- 
livered  son  of  a  wench,  Mettler,  to  my  detriment.  I  'm  goin' 
to  flog  yer  now,  an'  square  up  'counts.  I've  been  a  achin' 
fer  this  chance  to  pay  yer  off,  fer  a  good  w'ile.  Give  it  to 
him,  Jake,  an'  lay  it  dose  ev'ry  time,  ef  yer  want  to  save  yer 
own  black  hide." 

"JVappo  /"  shouted  a  voice,  at  the  door  of  the  cabin,  at 
this  moment. 


290  T  H  E     R  A  G  -  P  r  0  K  E  I? . 

"Massaf  Massa  Mettler !"  screamed  the  negro  in  response, 
at  the  top  of  his  lunga. 

"  I  want  you,  Nappo,"  continued  Mettler,  as  he  put  his 
head  into  the  door  and  saw  the  hands  all  assembled  together 
in  one  room,  and,  at  the  same  moment,  discovered  Nappo 
tied  by  the  wrists  to  the  post. 

"  Put  it  on,  Jake  !"  shouted  Beck,  enraged  at  the  mal-apro- 
pos  visit  of  Mettler.  And,  at  the  same  time,  resolved  that  he 
would  not  be  baulked  in  his  purpose  again,  he  shouted,  "  give 
it  to  him !" 

Jake  drew  up  his  heavy  whip,  and  it  fell  with  a  crashing, 
ringing  force  upon  Nappo's  already  bruised  shoulders  and 
back,  and  then  it  fell  again  and  again,  before  Toney  could  pos 
sibly  reach  the  spot. 

"  Hold  !  you  scoundrel !     Hold — stop  /"  cried  Toney. 

"  Put  it  on  !"  screamed  Beck. 

"  Stop  !"  repeated  Toney,  fiercely.  And  springing  upon 
Jake,  like  a  young  wolf  (as  he  raised  the  scourge  for  the 
fourth  time),  with  one  hand  he  sent  him  reeling  to  the  further 
end  of  the  cabin,  while  with  the  other  he  Avrenched  the  whip 
from  his  grasp  as  he  went.  In  the  next  moment  he  had  sev 
ered  the  cord  that  bound  Nappo  to  the  beam,  and  freed  him 
from  further  present  harm,  though  his  back  and  shoulders 
were  shockingly  cut  and  scored  by  the  blows  he  had  just  re 
ceived. 

"  Shame  !  shame  on  you,  Beck  !"  said  Toney,  turning  to 
the  inhuman  brute,  who  had  been  the  first  and  the  present 
offending  cause  of  this  trouble.  "  Shame  on  your  wretchedly 
vengeful  disposition !  Go  over  to  the  stable,  Nappo,"  he 
continued,  addressing  the  poor  negro,  who  was  bleeding  badly. 


THE  OVERSEER'S  REVENGE.       291 

but  who  never  suffered  a  moan  or  a  groan  to  escape  him,  not 
withstanding  the  severity  of  his  renewed  beating. 

"  I  hain't  done  with  him  yit,"  said  Beck,  sulkily,  but  who 
really  feared  Toney's  influence  with  his  employer.  '"  I  hain't 
got  through  with  him,  by  a  long  mark,  yit.  I  '11  snaik  it  out 
of  him,  or  I  '11  have  his  heart's  blood,"  continued  Beck,  spite 
fully.  "  I  '11  git  my  chance  at  him,  yit — bet  yer  life  on  't. 
An'  w'en  I  c?o,  I  '11  pay  him  off,  sure  /" 

Toney  would  not  quarrel  with  Beck  himself,  and  so  he 
quietly  left  the  cabin,  and  followed  Nappo  over  to  the  stables. 

"  What  had  you  been  doing  ?"  asked  Mettler,  as  soon  as  he 
found  Nappo,  again.  "  Any  new  trouble  ?" 

"  No,  massa,  no,"  said  Nappo.  "  Noff'n  new.  Beck 's  dat 
mad  wid  me  dat  he  '11  nebber  gib  up — riebber.  He  's  allers 
hated  me,  an'  allers  beat  me,  an'  he  allers  will.  I  'se  bin  hard 
to  work  to-day,  an'  I  was  jess  gwine  to  de  cabin,  w'en  he 
cotched  me  ;  an'  Jake  he  lub  to  lick  de  poor  niggers,  Jake  do. 
We  muss  bar  it,  Massa  Mettler — we  must  bar  't 's  long  ^  we 
ken  ;  an'  den — " 

"  Well,  I  will  see  how  I  can  help  you  out  of  the  clutches 
and  the  reach  of  this  unmerciful  wretch,  Nappo,"  said  Toney, 
with  a  kind  expression  of  sympathy  ;  and,  procuring  a  clean 
sponge,  he  washed  and  bathed  the  excoriated  back  and  shoul 
ders  of  poor  Nappo  before  he  left  him  for  the  night. 

Nappo  finally  skulked  in  beneath  the  corn-husk  heap,  in 
one  of  the  barns,  in  preference  to  risking  another  visit  to  his 
cabin,  where  Beck  watched  for  him  till  past  midnight  without 
success. 

The  abuse  of  Nappo  by  this  wretched  slave-driver  was  only 
a^  single  instance  of  the  cruelty  in  constant  practice  upon  the 


292  THE     KAG-1'ICKKK. 

field-hands  of  Brittau's  estate.  Beck  was  the  autocrat  of  the 
plantation,  and  the  proprietor  knew  and  cared  nothing  about 
his  mode  of  management,  so  that  he  kept  the  "  lazy  niggers" 
at  work,  and  contrived  to  force  the  greatest  possible  amount 
of  labor  out  of  them,  sick  or  well,  a  custom  that  every  where 
prevails  among  the  down-trodden  creatures  who  are  thus 
placed  at  the  "  tender-mercy"  of  these  abominable  task-mas 
ters,  whose  first  qualification  must  be  the  known  and  firmly 
established  lack  of  any  thing,  in  their  compositions,  that  is 
akin  to  feelings  of  humanity  or  reason  ! 

This  point  is  a  lamentably  notorious/ac^.  There  are  no 
possible  exceptions  to  this  rule.  It  is  true  that  among  the  slave 
proprietors  there  are  found  men  who  possess  the  finer  feelings 
of  the  man  and  the  gentleman,  and  instances  are  met  with 
where  these  wretches  are  not  permitted  to  "  reign"  upon  slave- 
estates  ;  but  this  is  not  common.  The  great  mass  of  proprie 
tors  find  it  more  convenient  to  intrust  the  care  of  the  planta- 
tl^n  10  agents,  who  assume  unlimited  power  in  their  province, 
while  the  owners  know  little  or  nothing  of  the  horrible  treat 
ment  to  which  their  slaves  are  continually  subjected.  A  feel 
ing  of  total  indifference  to  the  details  of  their  affairs  is  a  char 
acteristic  of  Southern  proprietors,  and  hence"  the  prime  cause 
of  the  abuses  noted. 

Kind  treatment  to  slaves,  wholesome  food,  and  reasonable 
shelter  for  the  sufferers  is  not  permitted,  as  a  general  rule.  I 
say  is  not  permitted.  I  mean  by  this  to  insist  that  slave 
labor,  as  a  whole,  has  long  since  been  found  to  be  unprofit 
able  and  ruinous,  if  the  operatives  are  treated  as  well,  cared 
for  as  well,  sheltered  as  well,  relieved  and  comforted  as  well 
(when  really  out  of  working  condition),  as  are  the  horses  and 


THE  OVERSEER'S  REVENGE.       293 

cattle  of  a  reasonable  and 'thriving  Northern  farmer,  or  even 
of  a  Southern  gentleman !  All  Southern  experience  points  to 
this ;  and  the  writer  once  heard  a  Virginian  declare,  solemnly, 
that  "  if  he  should  spend  as  much  money,  proportionately,  in 
housing,  and  feeding,  and  looking  after  his  niggers,  as  he  did 
in  the  grooming,  and  sheltering,  and  the  care  of  his  stud  of 
horses,  he  would  find  himself  against  a  wall,  very 'shortly  /" 
Nappo  was  the  object  of  Beck's  particular  hatred,  the  more 
especially  because  Toney  favored  him.  He  dared  not  attempt 
to  abuse  Mettler,  and  so  he  wreaked  the  vengeance  he  har 
bored  against  both  upon  the  devoted  head  of  the  defenseless 
slave,  whenever  he  could  find  the  opportunity. 


CHAPTER   L. 

A     SECRET     INTERVIEW. 

She  was  all  gentleness,  all  gayety ; 
And,  in  the  luster  of  her  youth,  she  gave 
Her  hand,  with  her  heart  in  it,  to  Francisco. 

KOGERS. 

JULIE  and  Toney  sat  alone  together,  in  a  small  arbor 
directly  in  the  rear  of  the  dwelling-house,  a  pretty  and  taste 
ful  retreat  which  Toney  had  himself  built,  two  years  before, 
and  where  the  lovers  had  often  met  to  talk  and  speculate 
upon  the  future.  Brittan  was  absent  at  the  race-course, 
where  a  favorite  horse  of  his  was  about  to  run  for  a  large 
purse,  and  upon  the  result  of  which  the  Englishman  had  a 
heavy  sum  of  money  pending. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  that  scene,  Julie,"  said  Toney,  with 
deep  feeling,  "  as  long  as  I  have  breath.  I  never  saw  a  slave 
badly  punished  before  in  my  life,  and  although  I  Ve  often 
heard  about  it,  I  knew  I  could  n't  stand  quietly  by  and  see 
one  of  them  thus  maltreated  upon  any  consideration  whatever. 
Nappo  was  shockingly  abused,  really." 

"  Is  n't  it  dreadful  ?  And  I  have  talked,  and  talked  to  iny 
guardian,  and  urged  him  to  leave  this  place,  of  which  I  am 
most  heartily  sick,  I  assure  you  ;  but  he  is  obdurate,  and  de- 


A     SECRET     INTERVIEW.  295 

clares  he  will  live  and  die  here  among  them,  come  what 
may  in  the  mean  time." 

"  Ah,  Julie !"  exclaimed  Toney,  "  you  may  as  well  save 
your  breath  on  this  point.  He  will  never  give  it  up.  Ho 
can't  do  it." 

"Can't?     Why  not?" 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you  why,  and  you  will  appreciate  me, 
though  I  am  sure  this  will  be  news  to  you.  Mr.  Brittan  has 
gone  so  far  that  he  has  not  the  ability,  pecuniarily,  to  recede. 
He  has  mortgaged  his  estate  for  almost  its  full  value,  Taskem 
has  over-reached  him  terribly,  his  slave-purchases  have  been 
foolish  and  unnecessary,  his  horse-racing  and  wine-bibbing 
have  cost  him  a  fortune,  his  tobacco-crops  have  been  poor  and 
too  expensive  altogether,  and  he  is  at  this  hour  upon  the  very 
verge  of  bankruptcy,  I  have  no  sort  of  doubt." 

"  What  /" 

"  It  is  as  I  tell  you,  Julie,  precisely.  He  is  now  absent  at 
the  great  races.  Upon  one  or  two  of  the  favorite  horses  he 
has  wagered  some  twelve  thousand  dollars.  He  raised  a 
second  and  a  third  mortgage,  here,  to  obtain  the  money  for 
his  portion  of  the  stakes,  I  know,  and  he  may  win.  If  he 
does  not,  where  will  he  then  be  ?" 

"  You  astound  me !"  exclaimed  Julie,  emphatically. 

"  I  told  you  it  would  be  news !  And  now  I  've  another 
piece  of  intelligence,  which  I  presume  will  be  quite  as  new, 
and  I  hope  more  interesting,  which  I  have  long  desired  the 
opportunity  to  communicate  to  you." 

"  Well,  Toney,  what  next  2" 

"  I  am  about  to  leave  Greenville,  Julie,  forever. 

"You    leave — you,    Toney?"  replied    Julie,    looking   him 


296  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

strait  in  the  face.  "  No,  you  're  not — no,  no — Toney  !  You 
certainly  do  not  mean  any  such  thing  as  this,"  said  Julie,  con 
fused,  and  evidently  alarmed. 

"  After  what  has  passed  with  Beck,  here,  I  have  no  wish  to 
remain  a  moment,  I  assure  you,  Julie,  even  if  I  had  not  pre 
viously  made  up  my  mind  to  go  North  again.  But  now  my 
decision  is  irrevocably  determined  on,  and  I  shall  go  at  an 
early  day.  I  can  not  leave  at  an  hour's  notice,  of  course. 
But,  within  a  month,  I  intend  to  join  my  friends  in  the  State 
of  New  York,"  said  Toney. 

"  New  York  ?  But  you  have  always  said  you  had  no 
friends,  Toney.  How  is  this  ?" 

"  I  found  them  when  I  was  absent,  a  few  weeks  since,  Julie. 
I  promised  my  dear  sister  Carrie — you  have  often  heard  me 
speak  of  her — that  I  would  very  soon  return  to  her.  I  must 
redeem  my  promise ;  and,  besides,  I  am  heart-sick,  heart-sick, 
Julie,  of  this  life,  here  !" 

"  Not  more  so  than  /  am,  Toney,  I  know.  And  why  then 
should  you  go,  and  leave  me  to  suffer  alone  here  ?  Is  this  the 
end  of  all  your  protestations,  Toney  ?  You  surely  can  not 
have  the  heart  to  leave  me  thus,  I  think." 

"  Not  for  all  Kentucky,  Julie,  and  all  the  world  besides  !" 
exclaimed  Toney,  fervently.  "  I  have  no  idea  of  changing  my 
resolve  about  going,  dearest,  but  I  shall  not  leave  you  behind 
me." 

"  And  how — how,  then  ?"  asked  Julie,  blushing. 

"  How  then,  Julie  1  Why,  I  have  a  few  hundred  dollars  saved 
from  my  earnings  in  the  past  seven  years,  and  I  am  a  better 
fanner  to-day,  a  good  deal,  then  I  was  when  I  came  to  Ken 
tucky.  I  have  health,  and  strength,  and  some  share  of  talent 


A     SECRET     INTERVIEW.  '297 

in  my  way.  God  has  implanted  in  my  bosom  a  love  of  right, 
and  I  have  the  courage  to  believe  that  I  can  readily  obtain  a 
good  living  wherever  my  lot  may  be  cast.  You  will  become 
my  wife — we  will  leave  this  place  together — you  shall  go  with 
me  where  I  go — you  shall  see  my  loving,  darling  sister,  who 
will  be  rejoiced  to  meet  you  ;  and  we  shall  be  far  happier  than 
we  can  be,  by  any  possibility,  here,  I  am  sure.  Don't  you 
think  so,  Julie  ?" 

"  And — and — leave  my  guardian,  Brittan,  here  ?"  replied 
Julie,  confusedly. 

"  What  is  he  to  you  ?  Oh,  Julie,  be  advised  by  me,  and 
trust  me ;  /  will  not  deceive  you." 

She  fell  upon  his  breast,  as  she  said : 

"  I  am  yours,  yours,  Toney  ;  do  with  me  as  you  will !" 

Before  this  interview  was  closed,  all  the  requisite  prelimi 
naries  had  been  arranged  for  their  flight  and  marriage.  Toney 
very  well  knew  that  Brittan  would  peremptorily  scout  any 
approaches  that  he  should  attempt  to  make  toward  his  ward, 
if  he  had  been  apprised  of  his  feelings  in  regard  to  her ;  and 
Julie  also  knew  that  her  guardian  would  never  consent  to 
listen  to  such  a  proposal  for  an  instant. 

Old  Brittan  had  never  suspected,  for  one  moment,  that  any 
such  feeling  existed  between  the  lovers  at  all.  They  had  ex 
ercised  the  utmost  caution,  continuously,  and  their  intercouse 
had  always  been  so  carefully  managed  that  her  guardian  was 
totally  unadvised  as  to  the  real  state  of  the  case.  Brittan  had, 
once  in  his  life,  been  shocked  at  a  daughter's  rashness.  He 
was  now  destined  to  be  astounded  at  his  ward's  temerity ! 

It  was  evening.  The  race  was  over.  Brittan  had  just  re 
turned  to  his  dwelling.  He  had  bet  on  the  wrong  horse,  and 

13* 


298  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

was  thirteen  thousand  dollars  worse  off,  pecuniarily,  than  he 
was  twelve  hours  previously !  lie  was  in  a  wretchedly  de 
jected  mood,  for  he  was  certain — he  thought — that  he  should 
Avin. 

But  people  do  not  always  win  at  horse-races,  and  especially 
people  who  bet  and  are  not  acquainted,  .pretty  well,  with  the 
gamblers  of  the  South  and  West ! 

Taskem  had  not  yet  received  his  four  thousand  three  hun 
dred  dollars  for  the  last  three  slaves  he  had  sold  Brittan.  He 
held  his  note  for  this  amount,  and  both  he  and  Brittan  had 
been  striving. for  some  days  to  raise  an  additional  mortgage 
upon  the  estate,  but  there  was  quite  as  many  liens  on  it  as  the 
lenders  desired  to  see ;  and  the  money  could  not  be  obtained. 

Brittan  was  alarmed. 

"  Things  look  squally,  here,"  said  Beck  to  Taskem.  But 
Taskein  replied : 

"  Keep  cool,  Beck.  Britt'n  owes  rne  over  four  thousan' 
dollars,  an'  I  must  git  it  somehow.  Say  nuth'n.  He  '11  hold 
out  another  year,  eesy,  I  reck'n.  It  'ud  be  a  mighty  tight  fit 
fer  me  ef  he  did  n't  pay  me,  though  !  My  pile 's  in  them  three 
niggers.  Fer  God's  sake,  keep  still,"  urged  Taskem,  who  had 
invested  his  pecuniary  all  in  this  last  venture  ! 


CHAPTER  LI. 

THE  GUARDIAN'S  PROPOSAL. 

He  secretly 

Puts  pirate's  colors  out  at  both  our  sterns, 
That  we  might  fight  each  other  in  mistake — 
That  he  should  share  the  ruin  of  us  both ! 

CROWN'S  Ambitious  Statesman. 

ANTHONY  BRITTAN  had  endeavored  to  make  himself  agree 
able  to  Nora,  and  for  three  or  four  days  had  permitted  her 
to  go  when  and  where  she  would,  around  the  place,  without 
molestation.  She  had  been  scrupulously  watchful  of  her  boy, 
however,  and  never  permitted  him  to  get  out  of  her  sight, 
day  or  night. 

She  passed  the  greater  portion  of  her  time  in  the  compan 
ionship  of  Katty,  who  had  been  regularly  installed  as  the  at 
tendant  of  Julie,  and  whom  Brittan's  ward  was  well  pleased 
with.  Julie  found  the  two  sisters  exceedingly  useful  in 
household  affairs,  and  they  proved  very  excellent  servants  in 
every  way. 

All  that  Nora  seemed  to  care  for  beyond  exhibiting  a  will 
ingness  to  parform  her  daily  duty  acceptably,  was  to  know 
that  her  boy,  Buff,  was  constantly  safe,  and  that  he  would  re 
main  with  her ;  and  while  she  was  continually  on  the  qui  vive 
to  retain  him,  Taskem  had  about  concluded  his  arrangements 
to  smuggle  him  away. 


300  THE     RAG-PI  CKEK. 

But  Nora  proved  impracticable,  and  Brittan  became  mo 
rose  and  sulky.  He  sent  for  Ms  ward  suddenly,  one  after 
noon  (after  he  had  dined  and  swallowed  a  bottle  of  port),  and 
said : 

"  Julie,  you  have  seen  Mr.  Flash  once  or  twice,  here.  You 
remember  him  ?  We  met  him  at  Covington,  too,  and  at  Ash- 
ville,  last  season." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Julie,  "  I  recollect  him." 

"  He  will  be  here  next  week,  or  the  week  after,  to  pass  a 
few  days  with  us.  He  is  a  gentleman  of  fortune,  and — and 
he — he  is  pleased — pleased  with  you — so  he  says.  He  is 
single,  and  you  can  gratify  me,  Julie,  exceedingly,  by  being 
attentive  to  him  during  his  sojourn  here." 

Julie  was  not  more  surprised  at  the  matter  than  at  the 
manner  of  Brittan's  short  speech.  It  had  evidently  been 
studied,  thought  upon,  coined  and  pointed  for  this  occasion  ! 
He  knew  she  was  proud  and  high-toned  in  many  of  her  ideas, 
and  she  came  honestly  by  them — her  father  before  her  was 
so — and  Julie  had  herself  arrived  at  "  years  of  discretion." 
Brittan  knew  all  this,  and  he  had  sold  her — sold  his  ward, 
Julie  Manning — to  Timothy  Flash,  Esq.,  at  a  round  consider 
ation,  but  all  in  secret !  The  only  bar  to  the  consummation 
of  the  bargain  between  these  two  precious  scoundrels,  now, 
was  the  delivery  of  the  property  to  the  purchaser  !  And  the 
compact  was  brought  about  in  this  wise  : 

Brittan  was  out  of  cash.  He  must  have  money — ready 
money — soon,  or  his  affairs  must  be  summarily  and  disgrace 
fully  wound  up  !  In  his  efforts  to  obtain  a  fresh  mortgage 
upon  his  estate  for  the  purpose  of  staving  off  the  evil  day  for 
a  time,  he  chanced  to  meet  with  Mr.  Flash  (who  was  a  wealthy 


THE     GUARDIANS     PROPOSAL.  301 

but  dissolute  man),  to  whom  he  broached  his  wishes.  Flash 
had  the  means,  and,  in  his  usual  off-hand  manner,  replied  : 

"  Brittan,  you  shall  have  the  amount  you  Avant,  provided 
you  're  inclined  to  help  me  in  a  little  affair  that  will  occasion 
you  but  slight  inconvenience,  if  any  at  all,  and  in  which  I 
can't  very  well  succeed  without  your  aid." 

"  Name  it !"  says  Brittan,  smilingly. 

"  Will  you  first  give  me  your  promise,  upon  honor,  that  if 
you  can  accomplish  it,  you  will  do  so  ?" 

"  Assuredly,  will  I,"  said  Brittan,  putting  his  hand  on  his — 
waistcoat ! 

'•  Very  good.  You  can  have  the  fifteen  thousand  dollars 
you  seek  upon  your  simple  note  of  hand,  without  security. 
I  am  happy  in  being  able  to  serve  you.  And  in  return  I  want 
the  hand  of  your  ward,  Miss  Manning,  in  marriage." 

Brittan  halted  !  This  was  rather  too  business-like  even  for 
his  notions  !  He  hesitated,  and  Flash  continued  : 

"  I  flatter  myself,  Mr.  Brittan,  that  I  am  not  a  very  bad- 
looking  man — " 

"  No,  no  !     On  the  contrary — " 

"  Well,  no  matter  about  compliments.  Is  it  a  bargain  ? 
Will  you  assist  me  ?" 

Brittan  reflected. 

'  Yes,  yes,"  he  said  ;  "  I  will." 

"  Enough,"  said  Flash.  "  I  will  make  you  a  visit  at  yow 
estate,  shortly,  and  you  shall  propose  for  me.  I  'm  a  devil 
ish  poor  hand  at  proposing  to  the  women,  I  assure  you.  If 
we  succeed  you  shall  have  the  amount.  Try  it.  The  day  we 
are  married  I  will  place  the  money  in  your  hands." 

This  was  the  upshot  of  the  agreement,  and  Brittan  returned 


302  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

home  again  to  commence  the  accomplishment  of  his  part  of 
the  villainous  scheme  to  unite  his  innocent  ward  to  a  rich  but 
noted  libertine  and  villain. 

"  I  recollect  Mr.  Flash,"  said  Julie,  "  and  I  have  always  en 
deavored  to  be  attentive  to  all  your  friends  who  came  hither 
to  visit  us." 

"  I  know  it — I  know  it,  puss,"  said  Brittan,  attempting  to 
be  gracious,  "  but  this  time  I  'm  particularly  anxious  you 
should  please  Mr.  Flash — my  friend — who,  a — who — is  de 
lighted  with  your  charming  appearance,  Julie,.and  who  might, 
possibly — I  say  he  might  go  so  far  as  to — to — even — offer 
you — that  is  to  say,  I  think  he  might — even  make  you  an 
offer  of — of  his — a — hand,  Julie  !" 

Brittan  had  delivered  his  speech,  and  he  felt  greatly  re 
lieved  for  a  moment ! 

"  Me  !     Offer  his  hand  ?     What  for,  pray  ?" 

"  What  for,  puss  ?  Why,  you  can't  be  so  ignorant,  so  stu 
pid,  as  all  that,  can  you  ?" 

"  I  really  don't  see  what  /  have  to  do  with  the  hand  of  Mr. 
Flash,"  continued  Julie,  artlessly. 

"  Well,  I  mean  in  marriage,  Julie.     That 's  all." 

"  Oh  !  is  that  all  ?"  queried  Julie,  recovering  herself.  "  Is 
that  all  ?" 

"  Yes.  He  's  a  very  nice  young  man,  too,  is  Flash.  A 
clever  fellow,  and  rich  as  Croesus.  You  '11  be  delighted  with 
him,  and  he  '11  make  you  an  excellent  husband.  You  '11  re 
member  this,  won't  you,  Julie  ?"  said  Brittan,  again. 

"  Oh,  surely,  /  will  remember  it,"  replied  Julie,  with  em 
phasis. 

u  And  you  '11  treat  him  nicely  when  he  comes,  won't  you  ? 


THE  GUARDIAN'S  PROPOSAL.      303 

And  when  you  see  him  you  'II  put  on  your  softest  smiles, 
eh  ?  little  pretty  puss — eh  ?  won't  you  ?" 

"  Wlien  I  see  him  I  will  be  attentive  to  him,  of  course, 
since  you  are  so  particular  in  your  wishes,"  said  Julie. 

"  So  I  thought — so  I  thought !  I  knew  you  'd  be  agreeable 
to  it.  I  Tcnew  you  would,"  said  old  Brittan,  vastly  pleased 
with  his  prospect  thus  far. 

"  Leave  these  things  to  me  to  manage,  /know  what  women 
are.  I  know  what  pleases  the  girls,  /  do,"  he  continued.  "  I 
know  what's  best  for  my  girls,  of  course  I  do.  And  if  I 
did  n't,  who  should,  to  be  sure  ?  I  know  what 's  best  for  you, 
ray  Julie.  I  'in  your  guardian,  ain't  I  ?  Your  father  left  you 
to  my  care,  and  your  father  was  my  friend — my  friend  !  I  'd 
do  by  you  just  as  I  would  by  my  own  daughter,  just  exactly  ! 
And  I  would  n't  abuse  the  trust  reposed  in  me  by  a  friend — 
a  dying  friend — a  dead  friend — by  no  manner  o'  means — no  ! 
Xot  /.  Anthony  Brittan  's  too  honorable  and  high-minded 
a  man  for  that.  And  it  would  n't  be  right,  nor  just,  eyther ! 
It  would  n't  be  acting  the  part  of  a  Christian  for  a  man  to 
accept  such  a  responsible  charge.  (Brittan  did  not  mention 
any  thing  of  the  twenty  thousand  dollars  belonging  to  Julie 
that  he  had  squandered — every  dollar  of  it — in  betting  at 
horse-races  !)  It  would  n't  be  doing  as  we  'd  wish  to  be  done 
by,  under  similar  circumstances,  for  me  to  make  any  proposi 
tion  of  such  a  serious  nature  unless  I  knew  it  was  for  the 
best,  and  as  I  know  this  one  to  be — eh  ?  would  it,  Julie  ? 
Say,  don't  you  think  so,  puss  ?" 

There  was  no  reply  to  Brittan's  final  loving  query  !  Julie 
had  left  the  room,  some  moments  before  the  old  man  had 
reached  this  climax  of  his  speech,  and  he  was  alone  ! 


304  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

He  had  not  deigned  (or  dared)  to  look  his  ward  in  the  face, 
when  she  came  into  the  apartment,  and  as  she  observed  at 
once  that  he  had  been  indulging  in  his  wine,  while  he  was 
thus  gabbling  at  random,  she  slipped  quietly  out  from  be 
side  his  chair,  where  she  had  been  standing  during  the  early 
part  of  the  interview,  and  left  her  respected  and  respectable 
guardian  gazing  into  and  talking  at — the  empty  parlor  flower- 
vase  ! 

Brittan  turned  about  in  his  chair — looked  after  his  ward 
a  moment — concluded,  on  the  whole,  that  it  was  all  right, 
and,  leaning  back  against  the  cushions,  he  was  soon  sound 
asleep. 

Julie  had  found  Toney,  and  quickly  related  to  him  what 
Brittan  had  just  proposed  to  her. 

The  lovers  consulted  together,  and  the  conclusion  they  ar 
rived  at  was  that  the  sooner  they  carried  their  own  scheme 
into  execution,  the  sooner  they  would  both  be  relieved  from 
the  embarrassments  and  annoyances  of  their  present  positions. 

But  Anthony  Brittan  suspected  nothing,  and  he  slept  as 
soundly  and  as  unconcernedly  as  if  his  couch  were  of  roses 
and  his  prospects  elysian  ! 


CHAPTER    III. 

TWO     WRONGS     SOMETIMES     MAKE     ONE     RIGHT. 

I  have  had  feelings  of  my  cousin's  wrongs, 
And  labored  all  I  could  to  do  him  right; 
But,  in  this  kind  to  come,  in  braving  arms, 
Be  his  own  carver,  and  cut  out  his  way, 
To  find  out  right  with  wrong— it  may  not  be. 
And  you,  that  do  abet  him  in  this  kind, 
Cherish  rebellion,  and  are  rebels,  all ! 

York.    RICIIAED  II. 

"  WELL,  Nappo,  I  'm  going  to  leave  you,"  said  Toney  to  the 
negro,  one  day,  soon  after  his  trouble  with  Beck  had  passed 
by,  as  they  were  alone  at  one  end  of  the  corn-field. 

"  Whar'  yer  gwine,  massa  ?"  exclaimed  Nappo,  his  great 
eyes  enlarging  as  he  spoke.  "  Whar'  yer  gwine  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  this  State,  altogether." 

"  All  togedder  ?     W"ho  gwine  wid  you,  all  togedder  ?" 

"  I  mean,  permanently.  I  do  not  intend  to  come  back,  as  I 
have  done  heretofore  when  I  've  been  away." 

"  Wen  yer  gwine,  massa  ?" 

"  In  a  few  days,  now." 

Nappo  hung  his  head,  and  the  hoe  lagged  in  his  hands  at 
first,  and  then  he  ceased  to  work  entirely,  but  he  did  not  speak 
until  Toney  accosted  him  : 

"  T  hope,  Nappo,  you  will  get  along  without  trouble,  after 


306  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

I  'm  gone.  Your  fate  is  a  harsh  one  —  the  fate  of  your  race  is 
hard.  But  your  case,  especially,  is  one  that  commands  sym 
pathy,  because  you  have  once  tasted  the  sweets  of  liberty,  and 
know  Avhich  is  preferable  —  freedom  or  bondage  !  I  wish  I 
were  able,  I  Avould  take  you  with  me,  Nappo,  but  I  can't. 
I  'm  poor,  and  I  —  I  'm  sorry  —  but  I  can't  do  it.  You  've  been 
faithful  to  me,  and  faithful  to  your  master,  Brittan,  under  my 
direction.  But  you  must  bear  up  manfully,  and  remember 
that  there  is  a  better  world  than  this,  a  bright  hereafter,  where 
we  must  all  meet,  one  day,  to  give  an  account  of  our  doings 
in  this  sphere,  and  where  we  shall  all  be  upon  an  equal  foot 
ing  —  the  master  no  higher  than  his  slave,  if  the  servant  is 
faithful  and  just  to  himself  and  his  neighbor." 

"  You  mean  up  dar  /"  said  Nappo,  pointing  with  his  dry, 
hard  hand  heavenward. 

"  Yes,  Nappo  ;  we  shall  all  be  equal  there." 


"Yes,  /believe  so,  Nappo." 

"  Wot—  Massa  Britt'n,  an'  Beck,  an'  all?  Ekal  to  me  an' 
yer,  and  yer  ?  Dey  ekal  ter  we  ?" 

"  They  will  repent,  I  trust,  seasonably,  and  they  will  be  for 
given  of  their  errors." 

"  I  duzz  n't  want  ter  go  up  dar,"  said  Nappo,  firmly. 

"  What  !"  said  Toney. 

"  No.  Dis  chile  rudder  not,  massa.  Dis  chile  duzz  n't  keer 
'bout  gwine  up  dar,  ef  Massa  Beck  an'  Taskem's  dar,  no  how  !" 

"  You  must  endeavor,"  continued  Toney,  "  now  I  'in  going 
away,  Nappo,  to  conciliate  your  master  ;  and  if  you  go  along 
smoothly  with  Beck,  he  '11  treat  you  better,  I  hope." 

"  Nebber,  nebber,  Massa  Mettler,"  continued  Nappo,  stoutly, 


TWO     WRONGS     MAKE     O  N  K     K  I  G  H  T .  307 

"  Dem  men  nebber  '11  forgib  Nappo,  long  's  cley  lib  ;  an'  w'en 
you  'se  gone,  dey  '11  'mash  his  head  for  'ini,  to  pay  off  all  de 
ole  detts,  fer  sart'n.  War  yer  gwine,  Massa  Mettler  ?"  asked 
Nappo,  significantly,  once  more. 

" To  New  York  State,  Nappo.     Why  ?" 

"  Well,  ef  you  shu'd  see  a  poor  nigger  up  dar,  'n  he  had  'nt 
no  money,  ner  no  frens,  ner  nuff'n,  an'  he  shu'd  be  tryin'  to 
git  'way  from  deze  cusses  yere,  yer  would  n't  peach  on  'jm, 
wud  yer,  massa — eh  ?" 

"  If  you  ever  come  where  I  am,  Nappo,  I  '11  treat  you  well, 
and  you  shan't  suffer.  Mind !  I  don't  advise  you  to  run  away, 
though." 

"  Yer'e  gwine  ter  run  away,  ain't  yer,  massa  ?" 

"  No,  Nappo.  /  don't  have  to  run  away.  I  'm  free  to  go 
when  and  where  I  please." 

"Wall,  Massa  Ellerson,  yerfarder,  he  run  'way  wid  Missey 
Annie,  an'  he  was  free  man,  too — eh  ?" 

This  was  a  home-thrust  for  Toney,  for  he  had  arranged 
every  thing  to  "  run  away"  with  Julie,  at  an  early  day.  And 
though  Nappo  could  not  possibly  have  suspected  any  thing 
of  this,  yet  his  remark  fitted  Toney's  case  exactly. 

"Well,  Nappo,"  continued  Toney,  "two  Avrongs  don't  make 
one  right,  you  know.  You  are  Master  Brittan's  legal  prop 
erty;  and  though  it  is  an  unfortunate  situation  for  you,  the 
law  requires  that  you  should  remain  here.  This  is  one  wrong, 
and  a  grievous  one  ;  but  submission  is  a  virtue.  Now,  if  you 
should  run  away  from  your  owner,  you  would  be  taking,  from 
him  just  so  much  money  as  your  pecuniary  value  amounts  to; 
and  this  would  be  what  some  people  denominate  stealing,  or 
robbery,  you  see.  So  that  this  would  be  the  second  wrong. 


308  THE     UAG-PICKER. 

Now,  as  I  said  before,  since  two  wrongs,  like  these  I  have 
mentioned,  can  not  make  one  right,  you  should  n't  be  instru 
mental  in  committing  one  of  the  wrongs,  although  the  other 

O  O    '  O 

exists,  and  you  are  thus  a  victim  to  the  injustice  of  it." 

Nappo  was  very  attentive  to  this  excellent  piece  of  advice, 
though  he  did  not  comprehend  the  whole  of  it. 

"  I  see,  Massa  Toney,  I  see,"  said  Nappo.  "  Two  wrongs 
nebber  make  one  right,  'zackly  ;  on'y  sometimes  dey  do  /" 

"  I  think  not,  Nappo." 

"  Well,  massa,  I  tell  you,  den,"  said  Nappo,  in  a  whisper. 
"  'Poze  I  run  'way  one  time,  an'  go  lib  w'ile  in  free  State,  an' 
bimeby  dem  slave-cotcher,  Taskem,  cum  an'  nab  poor  Nappo, 
an'  take  him  back  ter  Alerbama  ?  Dat  one  wrong,  ain't  it, 
massa  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  Wai,  den.  Toze  Nappo  take  good  chance,  w'en  he  ken 
git  'urn,  an'  run  'way  'gin — dat  two  times — dat  two  wrong,  fer 
sart'n ;  eh,  massa  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Toney. 

"  Wai,  massa,  dem  two  wrong  make  one  right,  sure 's 
preach'n  ;  fer,  bet  your  life,  Massa  Toney,  ef  dis  chile  git  into 
free  State  'gin,  he  nebber  git  cotched  's  long  's  he  libs  !  An' 
dat  'ud'be  one  right,  fer  sart'n — eh,  Massa  Mettler  ?" 

The  force  of  Nappo's  theory  struck  Toney  very  remarkably, 
though  he  saw  that  the  poor  slave  was  not  altogether  dis 
interested  in  his  homely  argument.  So  he  said — 

"  Well,  Nappo,  I  don't  know  exactly  what  you  are  thinking 
of,  but  I  hope  you  '11  be  happy,  wherever  you  may  be  situated, 
in  the  future.  I  'm  sorry  I  ever  came  here  at  all,  for  many 
reasons,  but  I  am  about  to  quit  Kentucky,  and  I  only  wish  I 


TWO     WRONGS     MAKE     ONE     RIGHT.  309 

were  able  to  free  every  slave  Brittan  owns,"  said  Toney,  feel 
ingly.  "  This  is  put  of  the  question,  however,  and  I  must 
leave  you  all  to  the  mercy  of  those  who  ought  to  be  kind  to 
you." 

"  But  dey  nebber  '11  be  kind  to  us,"  said  Nappo,  again, 
"  nebber.  Dey  '11  beat  us,  an'  mash  us,  and  work  de  skin  off 
our  bones,  an'  den  trow  us  to  der  dogs,  w'en  we  're  us't  up. 
Dass  w'ot  dey  '11  do,  massa.  An'  ef  yer  say  ye  're  gwine,  I  say 
/  'm  gwine  too,  ef  I  ken  get  'way." 

"Well,  Nappo,  I  mustn't  know  any  thing  of  this,  you  see. 
If  I  see  you,  hereafter,  away  from  your  master's  place,  I  can't 
help  it,  and  shan't.  When  I  leave  him  I  Ve  done  with  him  and 
his  forever.  As  I  said  before,  if  you  come  where  I  am,  I  '11  do 
what  I  can  for  you ;  but  I  don't  recommend  you  to  run  away. 
It  is  a  long  journey  to  the  free  States,  and  you  'd  find  it  a 
weary  one,"  continued  Toney,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Yis — vis;  I  hear  'urn,  I  hear  'urn,  massa,"  said  Nappo, 
listening  attentively  and  excitedly,  and  catching  every  syllable 
that  dropped  from  his  friend's  lips. 

"  You  'd  have  to  suffer  from  fasting,  and  you  would  be  com 
pelled  to  skulk  by  day,  and  travel  by  night." 

"  Yis — yis,  massa." 

"  And  then  you  would  have  a  long  way  to  walk,  too,  and 
you  would  be  surrounded  by  spies  and  man-wolves,  who 
would  seize  you,  if  possible,  at  any  moment,  on  suspicion  of 
being  a  runaway ;  so  that  you  would  have  to  be  extremely 
cautious  how  you  were  exposed,  for  a  single  moment,  as  you 
went." 

"  Yis,  massa !" 

"  And  you  'd  have  to  find  your  way  to  Lewisburg — " 


310  THEUAG-PICKER. 

"Yis— " 

"  But  you  must  n't  enter  the  town,  though." 
"  O  no — I  see,  massa — Lucyberg ;  I  knows  'em." 
"  And  then,  when  you  reached  Green  River,  you  'd  have  to 
sly  up  the  valley,  always  keeping  the  course  of  the  river  up  to 
Harpshead — but  not  to  go  into  the  village,  you  know." 
"  No,  no,  massa — Harps'ed,  I  'member  him,  too." 
"  And  so  on — still  north,  that  is  up — between  Carthage  and 
Henderson — " 

"  Yis,  massa !     Cartige  an'  Aunerson.     I  knows  dem,  too." 
"  Then  across  the  Ohio  river,  and  that  '11  bring  you  into 
Illinois.     Keep  right  on,  then — that  is,  I  mean,  Nappo,  you 
would  find  it  necessary  to  continue  straight  forward,  thus,  if 
you  were  there — and  get  upon  the  Wabash  Eiver. 

"  Yis,  Warbush ;  I  know  'im,  massa.  Dass  w'ar  de  big 
Injuns  lib ;  I  know." 

"Arid  then  you  would  have  to  seek  for  the  town  of  Vin- 
cennes,  and  that  is  a  long  way  off,  you  see — but  there  you  'd 
find  friends,  Nappo — friends  who  would  aid  you.  But  you 
see  you  would  hardly  be  able  to  accomplish  all  this ;  and  you 
would  be  hunted  from  the  day  or  hour  you  left  here.  You 
would  stand  but  a  small  chance  of  escaping  again,  and  if  they 
caught  you  this  time,  you  'd  be  shipped  off  to  Alabama  or 
Mississippi,  where  you  would  forever  remain  in  bondage. 
The  difficulties  to  be  surmounted  are  far  too  great,  Nappo." 

"  What !  fer  liberty,  massa  !  Fer  freedom  ?"  exclaimed 
Nappo,  strangely.  "  Yer  nebber  was  a  slave,  Massa  Toney," 
said  Nappo,  with  deep  emphasis.  "  Yer  nebber  know'd  w'ot 
it  wus  to  wear  de  chains,  an'  feel  the  lash  ob  Beck  an' 
Taskem,  an  dem? 


TWO     WRONGS     MAKE     ONE     RIGHT.  311 

"  I  have  seen  more  of  it  than  I  shall  ever  see  again,  Nappo," 
replied  Toney.  "  But  it 's  a  difficult  thing  for  you  to  escape 
from  it,  any  way." 

"  Lucyberg — Green  Ribbev — Harps'd — Gartige — Annerson 
— 'hio  Ribber— -freedom  /"  said  Nappo,  clasping  his  hands 
in  the  intensity  of  hope,  and  repeating  the  words  again  and 
again  :  "  Lucyberg,  Green  Ribber,  Harps'ed,  Cartige,  'hio — 
liberty !  Oh  !  Massa  Mettler,  am  yer  gwine  dar  ?  am  yer 
gwine  to  de  'hio  ribber,  an  "VVarbush,  an'  Cartige,  an'  free 
State  3" 

"  Yes,  Nappo,  never  to  return." 

"  Wen  you  gwine  dar,"  asked  Nappo,  again. 

"  Within  a  few  days." 

Nappo  was  silent,  and  Toney  left  him,  finally,  with  the  in 
junction  : 

"  Remember,  Nappo,  two  wrongs  don't  make  one  right.  If 
you  attempt  to  escape  from  bondage  you  do  so  at  your  peril. 
If  you  do  go,  though,  remember  Lewisburg,  Green  River, 
Harpshead,  Carthage,  Ohio  River — " 

" An' freedom f  'tank  God!"  exclaimed  Nappo,  earnestly,  as 
his  kind-hearted  friend  disappeared. 

"  I  should  n't  be  at  all  surprised,"  said  Toney  to  himself,  as 
he  departed  toward  the  house,  "  I  should  n't  wonder,  now,  if 
Nappo  really  intended  to  run  away  again — poor  fellow  !" 

It  certainly  did  look  somewhat  suspicious ! 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

THE      STOLEN      CHILD. 

Away !  away,  on  bounding  steeds. 

The  white  maii-stealers  fleetly  go — 
Through  long  low  valleys,  fringed  with  reeds, 
O'er  mountains  capp'd  with  snow — 
Each  with  his  captive  far  and  fast  1 

THOMAS  PKIJTOLE, 

TASKEM  had  been  watching  all  the  next  day  for  the  oppor 
tunity  to  get  Nora's  boy  away;  but  the  mother  either  sus 
pected  him,  or  was  more  than  usually  watchful,  while  the 
slave-trader  was  in  sight,  and  it  had  come  to  be  nearly  even 
ing  before  he  made  any  open  attempt  at  removing  Buff.  It 
was  getting  late,  and  he  had  eight  miles  to  go  before  he  could 
obtain  a  public  conveyance  to  the  southward — it  being  his 
intention  to  proceed,  at  once,  to  Hopkinsville,  and  down  to 
Cumberland  River ;  whence  he  could  get  away  with  the  child 
without  further  trouble. 

He  had  taken  leave  of  Brittau,  and  the  sun  had  just  set,  as 
Taskem  came  to  the  side  entrance  of  the  house,  and  said  : 

"  Hello,  Buff,  w'ot  yer  doin' «" 

The  little  fellow  started  to  his  feet,  and  went  into  the 
kitchen  as  the  trader  approached,  for  Nora  had  taught  him,  in 
secret,  to  look  upon  Taskem  as  a  wicked  ghoul,  from  which 
he  should  flee  whenever  he  saw  him  comiug ! 


THE     STOLEN     CHILD.  313 

"  Come,  Buffy,  come,"  ho  continued,  coaxingly,  as  if  he 
were  calling  a  dog ;  but  the  boy  looked  in  his  eye  and  said  : 

"  No,  I  don't  wanter." 

"  Then  I  '11  hev  ter  fetch  yer,"  replied  the  brute,  jumping 
into  the  doorway,  ferociously,  and  griping  the  boy  in  his  arms. 

With  one  hand  he  seized  Buff  rudely,  and  as  the  boy 
screamed  "  mam — ,"  the  other  palm  of  the  slave-catcher  was 
clapped  upon  the  youngster's  mouth,  to  prevent  him  from 
uttering  the  final  syllable,  when  he  would  have  called  for 
"  mamma !"  Jumping  out  of  doors  with  him  as  quickly  and 
as  stealthily  as  he  had  come  in,  he  hastened  to  the  rear  of  the 
dwelling,  where  stood  a  rough  open  wagon,  with  a  stout 
horse  before  it,  in  readiness  for  a  start. 

"  Quick,  Beck,  quick,  now  !"  said  Taskem  to  his  companion 
in  sin,  who  held  the  horse,  and  only  awaited  to  assist  his 
friend  away,  "  quick,  for  he  's  as  strong  as  a  young  bull." 

And  Buff  was  tumbled  heels  over  head  into  the  bottom  of 
the  wagon,  after  having  been  nearly  strangled,  as  he  came 
from  the  house,  in  Taskem's  hands. 

"  Oh  !  mammy,  mammy — Nora — mammy  !"  shouted  Buff; 
"  Buckra-man  er  got  'im  !  Buckra-man  er  got  'im,  mammy  !" 
and  away  went  the  wagon  at  a  jump. 

"  Wot 's  that  ?"  yelled  Nora,  springing  madly  out  of  the 
parlor,  whither  she  had  been  summoned  by  Brittan,  a  moment 
previously,  in  order  to  give  Taskem  the  opportunity  he  had 
been  unsuccessfully  seeking,  for  six  long  hours.  "  Wot 's  that 
noise  ?  Buff — Buffy  /"  she  shrieked,  as  she  darted  away  ; 
"  whar  is  he,"  and  followed  by  Katty,  who  chanced  in  her  way 
as  she  rushed  out,  the  maddened  mother  flew  to  the  rear  of 
the  house,  in  season  to  behold  the  villain  Taskem  turning  his 

14 


314  THE     RAG-1'ICKEK. 

horse  into  a  by-way,  a  few  yards  behind  the  dwelling.  With 
infuriated  vigor  she  dashed  after  him,  at  top  speed,  as  she 
continued  to  scream : 

"  My  boy  !  my  chile  !  Buff  I  my  chile — my  chile  !  Don't 
steal  'im,  massa.  Oh  !  gi'  me  back  my  chile  !" 

The  road-way  was  ragged  and  muddy,  and  the  horse  soon 
found,  notwithstanding  the  goading  and  lashing  that  Taskem 
administered  to  him,  that  his  load  was  rather  too  stubborn 
for  him  to  gallop  along  with  freely,  and  he  began  to  show 
signs  of  faltering  and  obstinacy.  Taskem  lashed  him,  and 
swore  terribly,  while  Buff  had  heard  Nora's  voice,  and  was 
struggling  with  all  his  might  and  main  to  leap  from  the 
wagon.  What  Avith  attempting  to  guide  the  now  unruly 
beast,  and  to  keep  him  going,  and  at  the  same  time  striving 
with  feet  and  hands  to  hold  Buff'  down,  Taskem  quickly  as 
certained  that  he  had"  obtained  something  more  than  he  had 
originally  "  bargained  for,"  when  suddenly  his  horse  balked, 
and  came  to  a  dead  stand-still  in  his  tracks  ! 

Nora  and  Katty,  with  their  long  black  crimpled  hair  stream 
ing  wildly  in  the  wind,  were  close  behind  him  (for  they  had 
gained  upon  his  tracks  from  the  outset)  and  as  his  horse 
halted  they  came  on  rapidly  toward  the  vehicle.  Nappo  was 
just  returning  from  the  corn-fields,  and  seeing  the  involun 
tary  race,  which  he  did  not  at  first  comprehend,  was  quickly 
in  the  wake  of  the  two  girls,  who  flew  over  the  ground  like 
two  frightened  roes. 

"  Wot  is  it  V  shouted  Nappo. 

"  Taskem  !"  said  Katty. 

"Do  boy!"  yelled  Nora. 

And  this  was  enough.     Nappo  was  on  the  spot  as  soon  as 


THE     STOLEN     CHILD.  315 

the  others,  though  Taskem  did  not  see  him,  for  he  was  on  fire 
with  his  rage  and  disappointment  at  this  unexpected  pursuit, 
and  his  sudden  and  unlucky  dilemma. 

The  screams  of  the  boy  were  heart-rending,  amid  his  alarm 
and  the  rough  handling  he  experienced.  But  Taskem  had 
undertaken  to  remove  him,  and  he  did  not  intend  he  should 
escape  his  clutches. 

At  a  single  bound,  as  she  came  up,  Nora  sprang  nimbly 
into  the  wagon,  and  wildly  seized  upon  her  child. 

"  Give  way,  dam  yer  !  Out  with  yer  !  I  '11  kill  yer,  yer 
yaller  wench — I  '11  murder  yer,  ef  yer  don't !"  yelled  Taskem 
in  his  wrath,  as  Katty  mounted  on  th6  opposite  side  and 
clinched  his  arm. 

"  Gib  her  de  boy,  den  !"  said  Katty. 

"  Gi'  me  der  child  !"  shouted  Nora,  again  seizing  Buff  and 
springing  with  him  to  the  ground  before  the  villain  could  re 
cover  himself. 

But  Taskem  was  not  to  be  vanquished  thus  easily ;  and, 
flinging  the  reins  upon  the  saddle  of  his  contrary  beast,  he 
sprang  to  the  side  of  the  road  and  darted  in  pursuit  of  Nora, 
who  was  now  fleeing  back  toward  the  house  with  all  her  en 
ergies — Katty  following  close  behind  her  to  cover  her  retreat, 
if  necessary. 

As  he  came  up,  Katty  turned  on  the  wretch  and  struck  him 
fiercely  on  the  cheek,  which  staggered  him,  though  it  did  fall 
from  a  woman's  hand  !  But  this  opposition  was  only  tempo 
rary,  for,  with  a  single  blow  in  return,  he  felled  poor  Katty 
to  the  earth  with  such  violence  as  to  knock  the  breath  from 
her  body,  as  he  rushed  past  her  upon  Nora's  staggering 
tracks ! 


316  THE     RAO-PICKER, 

Taskem  could  scarcely  see  Nora  and  the  boy,  it  had  got  to 
be  so  dark ;  but  still  he  dashed  after  them,  and  still  the  al 
most  exhausted  mother  and  her  child  fled  on  before  the 
wretch  they  so  heartily  despised.  But  Taskem  suddenly  felt 
a  terrific  crash  upon  the  side  of  his  head,  and  then  another, 
when  he  fell  heavily  forward  into  the  path,  and  the  race  was 
up  for  this  heat ! 

Nora  flew  on  wildly — madly — with  almost  superhuman  en 
durance,  for  she  had  run  at  the  top  of  her  strength  a  distance 
of  nearly  two  miles  since  she  first  left  the  house.  But  she 
reached  the  old  porch  at  last,  and  with  an  appalling  shriek 
of  misery,  fright  and  exhaustion,  dashed  her  child  in  before 
her  as  she  cried — "  Save  him  !  save  him  !"  and  fell  helpless 
upon  the  great  hall-floor  of  Brittan's  house  ! 

Julie  was  passing  at  the  moment,  and,  greatly  alarmed  at 
this  sudden  exhibition,  she  sprang  forward  to  Nora's  assist 
ance,  loudly  calling  for  help  at  the  same  moment. 

Upon  turning  Nora  and  raising  her  up,  blood  was  found 
to  be  gushing  fearfully  from  her  lips  and  nostrils,  and  she  was 
taken  into  an  inner  room,  where  all  the  medical  aid  the 
house  afforded  was  brought  into  requisition,  for  it  was  evi 
dent  from  the  hemorrhage  that  she  had  sustained  an  alarm 
ing  internal  injury,  from  some  cause  as  yet  unexplained. 

Julie  was  in  great  distress  until  Katty  arrived  and  in 
formed  her  that  Taskem  was  in  the  act  of  carrying  off  her 
child,  whom  she  had  rescued  from  his  grasp  and  fled  with, 
subsequently.  And  directly  afterward  Toney  entered  to  con 
firm  the  story,  as  lie  had  quietly  received  it  from  Nappo's  lips. 

When  Taskem  fell  so  suddenly  in  the  road,  as  he  was  pur 
suing  Nora  and  the  boy,  Nappo  was  near  him,  as  it  turned 


THE     STOLEN     CHILD.  317 

out  in  the  end.  But  of  this  nothing  was  known  by  the 
slave-catcher  personally.  He  knew  that  he  had  been  badly 
wounded  from  the  blows  he  had  received  at  that  unlucky  mo 
ment,  for  when  he  came  to  consciousness,  an  hour  afterward, 
he  was  scarcely  able  to  get  up  out  of  the  road ! 

Beck  saw  him  start,  and,  like  a  coward  as  he  was,  instantly 
skulked  out  of  sight,  and  knew  nothing  more  of  the  affair  at 
all,  though  he  supposed  that  Taskem  was  far  on  his  way  to 
Cumberland  River  with  the  boy,  while  the  trader  lay  bleeding 
in  the  path,  half  a  mile  from  the  dwelling  of  Brittan. 

"When  Taskem  reached  the  house,  at  last,  Nappo  was  ab 
sent  again,  having  deemed  it  prudent  to  retire  to  his  cabin, 
lest  he  might  be  suspected  of  having  had  a  hand  in  the 
rescue. 

He  knew  that  Taskem  had  been  hurt,  and  he  did  not  know 
but  he  was  dead.  He  saw  him  lying  in  the  road,  and  passed 
on! 

The  horse  had  stood  as  long  as  suited  his  pleasure,  and 
finally  concluded  to  return  to  Brittan's  stable.  In  getting  out 
of  the  narrow  path  he  overturned  the  wagon,  which  frightened 
him,  and  he  ran  with  the  vehicle  at  his  heels,  at  a  fearful 
speed,  until  he  dashed  it  against  a  tree  stump,  smashing  it 
in  pieces,  by  the  way,  and  coming  to  the  stable  door  at  a 
round  pace,  most  desperately  alarmed  at  the  mischief  that  he 
had  lately  been  concerned  in. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

A     CHANGE     FOR    THE     BETTER. 

Back  on  the  past  ho  turns  his  eye, 
Kemembering,  with  an  envious  sigh, 
The  happy  dreams  of  youth. 

SOUTHEY. 

THE  employers  of  Henry  Ellson  ascertained,  at  length,  that 
his  talents  and  abilities  were  of  a  much  higher  order  than 
they  had  originally  given  him  credit  for.  He  was  constant, 
faithful,  perseveringly  industrious  to  the  last  degree,  and  had 
made  himself  so  useful  in  the  establishment  that  they  came  to 
value  his  services,  and  promoted  him  accordingly. 

A  vacancy  occurring  in  the  book-keepers'  department,  Ell- 
son  was  at  once  installed  as  an  assistant  (at  a  salary  of  six 
hundred  dollars  per  annum),  where  he  very  soon  showed  his 
principals  what  he  could  do.  He  was  a  good  penman,  and 
his  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  details  of  his  duties,  which 
he  had  acquired  years  before,  proved  of  the  greatest  service 
to  him. 

This  change  and  handsome  advance  in  his  personal  income 
coon  placed  him  fairly  upon  his  feet.  At  the  expiration  of 
his  third  year,  in  the  employ  of  this  firm,  his  compensation 
was  again  increased  to  nine  hundred  a  year,  and  Ellson  as 
sumed  a  "  respectable"  appearance  directly ! 


A     CHANGE     FOR     THE     BETTER.  319 

lie  took  a  pretty  house  (in  company  with  Mr.  Meeker) 
further  down  town,  where  he  could  be  more  conveniently  lo 
cated  for  his  business.  He  furnished  his  half  of  it  very 
neatly,  and  soon  the  now  happy  wife  and  husband  began  to 
enjoy  life  once  more  with  a  zest. 

They  went  into  society  again,  a  little,  and  friends  were 
raised  up  around  them.  And  oh  !  how  happily  passed  the 
days  and  hours  they  now  enjoyed  together,  surrounded  by 
the  comforts  and  ease  they  had  hitherto,  for  so  weary  a  period, 
been  strangers  to. 

In  her  neat  little  sitting-room,  so  handsomely  appointed, 
with  a  picture  here  and  there  adorning  the  walls,  and  a  small 
but  useful  library  of  books  which  Ellson  had  collected  from 
time  to  time,  surrounded  by  all  that  she  desired — save  the 
companionship  of  her  lost  children — how  often  did  Annie 
compare  her  present  position  with  what  it  had  been  !  And 
how  fervently  did  she  again  and  again  thank  God  that,  in 
His  mercy,  He  had  thus  saved  her  Henry  from  total  destruc 
tion,  aud  had  finally  so  blessed  them  both  in  their  "fortune 
and  their  store." 

They  had  omitted  to  avail  themselves  of  no  opportunity 
that  promised  the  slightest  information  concerning  their  long- 
lost  children,  but  still  heard  nothing  from  them.  Two  or 
three  times  they  had  advertised  in  the  city  journals,  but  they 
received  no  reply. 

Toney  was  in  Kentucky,  and  Carrie  was  in  the  westerly 
part  of  New  York  State.  They  saw  no  Eastern  papers,  and 
had  no  idea  that  their  parents  were  living.  All  the  parties 
who  could  have  given  the  father  and  mother  any  clew  to  the 
children  bad  long  since  been  scattered,  and  though  they  so 


THE     RAG-PICKER. 

earnestly  and  continuously  desired  to  learn  of  their  where 
abouts,  the  boon  was  as  yet  denied  them. 

Our  old  friend  Davy,  who  had  watched  the  beautiful  Carrie 
from  her  infancy  with  a  fatherly  care,  and  who  now  beheld 
her  approaching  to  womanhood,  and  growing  more  lovely 
day  by  day,  still  enjoyed  the  quiet  of  his  pretty  little  nook 
under  the  edge  of  the  hill,  near  E ,  and  the  aged  rag 
picker's  protegee  had  studiously  improved  the  opportunities 
afforded  her  to  improve  her  mind,  and  add  to  the  store  of  use 
ful  knowledge  she  had  laid  up  in  the  few  previous  years  of 
her  singular  life. 

They  had  been  looking  for  Toney's  return  for  several  days. 
At  the  rear  of  Davy's  shop,  and  overhead,  there  were  three 
or  four  small  apartments,  neatly  furnished,  which  served  for 
chambers  and  a  neat  sitting-room,  notwithstanding  the  some 
what  contracted  appearance  of  the  building  to  the  every-day 
passer-by,  in  the  road. 

These  rooms  had  latterly  been  refitted  and  nicely  arranged 
for  the  reception  of  guests  ;  for  Toney  had  hinted  to  Carrie 
his  intention,  when  he  again  came  in  that  direction,  to  bring 
with  him  a  stranger  to  her,  but  one  whom  he  long  had  loved, 
and  with  whom  he  was  confident  she  would  be  delighted. 

"  I  wonder  he  does  n't  come,"  said  Carrie,  impatiently,  when 
every  thing  had  finally  been  put  in  readiness  to  accommo 
date  them.  "  What  can  detain  him  ?" 

"  You  are  overanxious,  deary,"  replied  Davy.  "  It  is  now 
but  five  weeks  since  he  left,  and  he  thought  he  should  n't  be 
able  to  return  imder  seven  or  eight  weeks,  I  think." 

"  You  are  right.     I  remember,  now,"  replied  Carrie. 

But  Toney  was  then  on  his  way  North,  and  his  anxious 
friends  were  destined  soon  to  embrace  him. 


CHAPTER    LV. 

NORA'S     DEPARTURE. 

Weep  not  for  her!    It  was  not  hers  to  feel 

The  miseries  that  corrode  amassing  years, 
'Gainst  dreams  of  baffled  bliss  the  heart  to  steel, 
To  wander  sad  down  age's  vale  of  tears — 
Weep  not  for  her ! 

D.  M.  MOIE. 

"  WHAT  's  happened  to  her  ?"  exclaimed  old  Brittan,  coming 
into  the  room  hastily,  and  seeing  Nora  covered  with  blood, 
while  the  servants  and  Julie  and  the  cook  were  bustling  about 
as  if  the  prostrate  slave  were  somebody  of  real  consequence. 
"  What  the  devil 's  the  matter  with  her  ?  Can't  she  speak  ? 
— eh,  Nora  !  What 's  all  this  about,"  shouted  Brittan,  ap 
proaching  her.  For  once  in  his  life  the  old  man  appeared  to 
be  alarmed ! 

"  She  's  burst  a  blood-vessel,  evidently,"  said  Toney,  who 
was  present.  "  This  comes  of  that  wretch  Taskem's  manage 
ment,  you  see,  sir.  I  warned  you  against  that  man  years 
ago,  Mr.  Brittan." 

"  Did  he  do  it  ?  Did  Taskem  do  it  ?  How  ?"  said  Brittan, 
confusedly.  "  He  did  n't  beat  her  this  way,  eh  ?  What  was 
he  doing  ?  How  'd  it  happen  ?" 

"  He  attempted  to  steal  her  child  from  her,  and  she  pursued 
him  and  quarreled  with  him.  He  abused  her  and  she  fled 
14* 


322  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

back  with  her  boy,  and  fell  exhausted  at  your  threshold. 
That 's  all  that  we  know  of  it.  lie  's  a  heartless,  miserable 
villain,  and  you  '11  one  day  believe  this,  sir  !" 

They  gathered  around  the  form  of  Nora — Julie,  and  Katty, 
and  Toney,  and  the  boy,  and  the  old  cook,  and  half  a  dozen 
servants,  for  her  paling  cheeks  and  deadening  eye  told  too 
plainly  that  the  quadroon  was  passing  away  from  the  scene  of 
all  her  earthly  troubles. 

Brittan  left  the  apartment.  He  could  not  stand  by  and  see 
any  body  die  !  He  was  a  coward  !  It  reminded  him  too 
pointedly  of  his  own  latter  end.  He  went  into  his  middle 
room,  and  then  into  the  library,  beyond,  and  then  into  the  front 
parlor,  beyond  that,  and  closed  the  door!  Nora  was  dying! 

"  She  was  a  beautiful  woman,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and 
cost  me  over  two  thousand  dollars.  Two  thousand !  Cheap 
enough  at  that,  if — if — ."  But  now  she  was  dying. 

He  was  touched  !  Anthony  Brittan  was  doubly  affected  by 
this  prospective  accident.  He  was  losing  Nora,  and  two 
thousand  dollars  besides.  But  he  had  n't  paid  for  her  yet. 
This  was  some  consolation  ! 

"  If  Taskem  's  such  an  infernal  fool,"  he  continued,  "  as  to 
run  down  a  piece  of  property  'n  this  way — run  her  to  death, 
and  murder  her,  for  the  sake  of  getting  away  her  brat — he 
must  face  the  damage.  I  won't  pay  him  one  dollar  for  her, 
if  she  dies — not  one  cent !" 

And  he  might  have  added,  if  she  lives,  either.  For  he 
had  not  a  hundred  dollars  of  unencumbered  property,  to  his 
name,  at  that  moment ! 

"  Nora,  Nora  !"  said  poor  Katty,  sinking  at  her  sister's  side. 
"  Nora  !  speak  to  Katty,  won't  you  ?" 


NORA'S   DEPART  URK.  323 

But  the  dying  woman  could  not  speak.  The  slightest  pos 
sible  exertion  caused  her  to  spit  blood  from  her  mouth,  fear 
fully  ;  and  only  in  one  position  could  she  lie  at  all,  to  rest 
with  any  show  of  ease. 

When  a  slave  was  taken  sick,  in  the  earlier  experience  of 
Brittan,  he  would  order  the  invalid  to  be  "doctored."  Lat 
terly,  under  Taskem's  and  Beck's  advice,  he  took  no  notice  of 
their  ills.  His  overseers  insisted  that "  this  was  an  indulgence 
that  would  spile  every  nigger  he  had ;"  and  when  they  failed 
or  faltered,  he  advised  his  drivers  to  goad  them  up  a  little. 
"  The  whip  's  the  best  medicine  they  can  have,  I  'm  satisfied. 
Keep  'em  at  work,  and  they  never  '11  knoio  they  're  sick,  any 
how !"  insisted  Brittan. 

But  Nora  was  not  deceiving  him.  Pie  was  clear  in  this. 
He  would  send  for  a  doctor !  But  Julie  said  it  was  useless. 
She  was  bleeding  to  death.  And  so  she  was  ! 

The  passion,  the  fear,  the  resentment,  the  pains  that  had 
been  pent  up  for  days  and  weeks  in  Nora's  heart,  when  she 
saw  the  treachery  of  Taskem  thus  exhibited,  had  come  forth 
at  a  gush.  Like  an  unchained  panther  had  she  sprung  upon 
the  scoundrel  who  thus  aimed  to  rob  her,  even  after  she  had 
run,  at  her  topmost  speed,  nearly  a  mile,  to  overtake  him. 

And  when  she  fled  back,  with  her  child  at  her  side,  she 
rushed  away,  like  a  startled  hind,  from  his  fearful  grasp.  In 
that  race,  she  felt  that  her  all  was  at  stake ;  and,  forgetting 
aught  but  the  hope  of  reaching  the  house  in  safety  with  her 
child,  she  exerted  every  muscle,  eveiy  fiber  of  her  almost  then 
exhausted  frame,  to  save  her  darling  boy,  and — 

" readied  the  goal — 


But  fell  a  martvr  in  her  triumph." 


324  THE      RAG-riCKEK. 

"  I  reck'n  she  wants  ter  say  su'thin',"  suggested  the  old 
cook,  who  stood  at  her  head. 

"  Can  we  do  any  thing  for  yon,  Nora  ?"  asked  Julie,  kindly, 
approaching  the  pallet  on  which  she  still  lay,  and,  placing  her 
ear  to  the  sufferer's  lips,  she  heard  Nora  whisper  the  name  of 
her  child. 

"  Bring  the  boy  here,  instantly,"  said  Julie. 

Buff  was  standing  by  his  mother's  death-bed  in  a  moment, 
but  he  did  not  realize  any  thing.  He  saw  that  Nora  lay 
speechless  and  helpJess,  and  he  saw  the  clear  red  stream  that 
oozed  from  her  paling  lips  !  He  saw  the  glassy  eye,  and  knew 
she  could  not  speak  to  him,  but  why  this  was  so,  or  Avhat  it 
all  meant,  he  did  not  know. 

He  said,  "  Poor  mammy !     Poor  Nora  !"     That  was  all. 

"  Kiss  her,  darling ;  kiss  poor  mamma,"  said  Julie,  drawing 
the  boy  up  to  the  side  of  the  cot  upon  which  they  had  laid 
her. 

And  the  little  fellow  placed  his  lips  close  to  hers  who  had 
nursed  him,  and  nurtured  him,  and  watched  him,  and  pro 
tected  him  for  six  long  years,  and  who  died,  at  last,  to  save 
him  from  the  fiendish  grasp  of  a  miserable  wretch,  whom  she 
knew  would  sacrifice  him  to  the  cold  mercies  of  the  first 
heartless  tyrant  who  would  buy  him ! 

He  kissed  the  parched  lips  of  the  once  beautiful  Nora — and 
he  shrunk  away  from  her. 

"  Wot  make  'em  so  cold  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  gazed  with  the 
rest  upon  her  whitening  face. 

The  mother  raised  her  hand,  and  Julie  again  kneeled  down 
beside  her. 

"Save  him!    Save  ButFy  !   Don't  let  'em  hab  'im  !    Missey — • 


NORA'S   DEPARTURE.  325 

Katty  !  Save  him — always  /"  hissed  the  poor  girl,  wildly. 
And  this  effort  was  her  last. 

A  freshness  at  first  overspread  her  features,  then  the  deadly 
pallor  succeeded  that  is  unmistakable,  as  the  moment  of  dis 
solution  finally  drew  near. 

She  smiled — poor  Nora  smiled,  softly,  sweetly,  calmly,  in 
that  last  terrible  moment,  as  if,  when  her  spirit  was  leaving 
the  flesh,  the  angels  were  hovering  about  her,  and  her  sins 
had  been  forgiven. 

Her  sister  Katty  held  her  hand  in  hers,  and  the  pulse  had 
ceased  to  beat.  The  bleeding  had  also  stopped.  There  was 
no  more  struggling — no  choking — no  spasmodic  frights  and 
startings.  All  was  still,  and  calm,  and  peaceful,  and  the  spirit 
of  the  slave  had  been  borne  away  to  the  sphere  "  where  the 
wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest !" 


CHAPTER   LVI. 

BRITTAN     AND     HIS     "FRIEND." 

He  that  lacks  time  to  mourn,  lacks  time  to  mend. 
Eternity  mourns  that!    'Tis  an  ill  cure 
For  life's  worst  ills,  to  have  no  time  to  feel  them. 
Where  sorrow 's  held  intrusive,  and  turn'd  out, 
There  Wisdom  will  not  enter,  nor  true  power, 
Nor  aught  that  dignifies  humanity ! 

HENUY  TATLOK. 

BRITTAN  was  greatly  shocked  at  the  accident  to  Nora,  but 
tie  soon  rallied  after  the  first  feelings  of  surprise  and  disap 
pointment  had  passed  by.  When  Taskem  arrived  at  the 
house  with  his  damaged  head  and  face,  the  Englishman  was 
again  disturbed,  and  the  slave-hunter  quickly  aroused  him. 

"Where's  ye're  foreman,  Mcttlcr  ?"  said  Taskem,  signifi 
cantly,  as  he  came  in. 

"  Mettler  ?  I  don't  know.  He  's  here,  somewhere — been 
here  all  the  evening.  What 's  the  matter  with  you,  Taskem." 

"  Ye  're  sure  he 's  been  here  all  the  evenin',  arn't  yer,  Brit- 
tan,  continued  Taskem. 

"  Yes — that  is,  he 's  been  here  most  of  the  time,  since  Nora 
returned." 

"That's  jest 'what  I'm  at.  She's  returned,  eh?  And 
fetched  the  brat  with  'er,  of  course,  eh  ?" 

"Yes;  and— " 


BRITTAN     AND     HIS     "FRIEND."  327 

"  Well,  yer  see  these  cuts,  and  this  eye,  yere,  eh  ?  Wot 
d'  yer  think  o'  that,  an'  that — an'  this  yere,  now,  Brift'n  1 
Arn't  them  rayther  savage,  eh  ?" 

"  What  does  all  this  butchery  mean  ?" 

"  Mean  ?  W'y,  it  means  jest  what  I  've  bin  a  tellin'  yer 
about  these  three  years  back.  A  mighty  nice  feller  yer  've 
got  'ere,  to  be  sure !" 

"  Who  ?" 

"ThisMettler." 

"  What  has  he  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  He  's  a  thief — a  damn  skulkin'  white-livered  Yankee  cut 
throat,  Britt'n.  I  've  told  yer  this  long  'nuff.  The  two  gals 
run  arter  us,  an'  the  horse  baulk'd,  and  Nory  got  the  brat  in 
her  arms  an'  run.  I  went  arter  'er,  an'  jest  as  I  'd  got  in 
reach  ov  her  ha'r,  'at  wus  strearnin'  out  behind  'er  as  she 
went,  I  caught  this  knock,  an'  this,  an'  this,  on  the  head ;  an' 
I  fell  in  my  tracks  's  if  I  wus  dead !  He  did  it !" 

"  Who  ?" 

"Mettkr!" 

"  Possible  ?" 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  w'otever." 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?" 

"  No.  But  who  else  would  ha'  bin  thar,  but  this  damn 
Yankee  knave  ?" 

"  You  must  be  mistaken,  I  think,  Taskem." 

"  Mistak'n !  Is  thar  any  mistake  in  these  yere  cuts  and 
knocks  ?" 

"  I  mean  in  the  man,  Taskem." 

"  Not  a  bit  ov  it.  Now  I  tell  yer  ag'in,  ef  yer  don't  send 
that  feller  off,  ye  're  a  ruined  man  ;  an'  yer  can't  dodge  it. 


328  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

He's  sp'ilt  Nappo,  an  lie's  sp'ilt  the  gals,  too.  An'  he'll 
sp'ile  the  rest  on  'em,  sure 's  preachin'.  Sen'  fer  a  drop  o' 
whisky.  I  'm  drier  'n  a  corn  husk." 

After  gulping  down  a  gill  of  this  delectable  poison,  the 
slave-catcher  said :  , 

"  Come  !  I  'm  better.  I  ain't  hurt  s'  bad  as  I  might  ha' 
bin,  but  it  staggered  me,  awful.  Now  my  blood  's  up ;  an'  I'm 
bound  ter  hev  that  nigger  brat  ef  I  'm  shot  for 't.  Whar  's 
Nory?" 

"  She  's  pretty  bad,  Taskem,  pretty  bad.  She  won't  get  up 
again,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Get  up  ?     From  whar  ?" 

"  She 's  bleeding  like  a  stuck  bullock,  in  the  back  room." 

"  Bleedin'  ?  Wot  about  ?"  exclaimed  Taskem,  surprised. 
"  Did  she  git  hurt,  too." 

" — 'Sh  !    Burst  a  blood  vessel ;  overexertion,"  said  Brittan. 

"Ha,  ha!  That's  'er  game,  eh?  Sen'  fer  Beck!  Sen' 
fer  Beck,  Britt'n.  He  '11  take  that  tantrum  out  on  her.  That's 
her  'sterics.  She  allers  has  'sterics  w'en  she  's  mad,  allers. 
Beck  '11  take  'em  out  on  'er  quicker  'n  yer  'd  say  'scat  /" 

"  Do  you  think  she 's  cheating  us  ?" 

"  I  know  she  is.  He — he  !"  chuckled  Taskem  ;  "  yer  '11  git 
better  'quainted  with  'er,  bimeby,  Britt'n.  Come,  now,  sen' 
fer  Beck,  an'  see  how  quick  he'll  fetch  her  to  her  trotters,  ag'in." 

"  But  the  bleeding,  Taskem.  She  could  n't  feign  that, 
could  she  i" 

"  Spittin'  blood,  yer  mean  ?  That 's  nuthin'.  I  Ve  seen  'er 
do  that  by  the  'our — damn  her !  Sen'  fer  Beck." 

"I'll  just  step  in  and  see  how  she  is,  first.  I  can't  believe 
sho  could  deceive  us  thus.  "Wait  a  minute." 


BRITTAN     AND     HIS     "FKIEND."  329 

Brittan  quickly  returned,  and  liis  face  was  as  white  as  his 
shirt ! 

"Wot  now?" 

"  Xora's  dead,  Taskem !" 

"Dead!" 

"  Dead 's  a  door-nail — certain.  Go  and  see  for  yourself," 
said  Brittan. 

"  Well — I — /  don't  want — I  don't  want  ter  see  no  dead 
niggers.  Arn't  she  sulkirf.  Sure  she  's  dead,  eh  ?"  responded 
Taskem,  as  strange  thoughts  rushed  upon  his  mind.  "  Sure 
she 's  gone,  Britt'n  ?" 

The  Englishman  nodded  his  head,  and  added  again : 

"  Go  and  see,  Taskem." 

"  No — no  !  I  shan't.  /  did  n't  kill  her.  I  was  doin' — 
doin'  just  w'ot  yer  told  me  ter  do ;  's  no  fault  o'  mine,  yer  see, 
ov  course,  Britt'n.  It 's  bad  luck — but  can't  be  helped,  ef 
she 's  railly  dead.  It 's  onlucky,  but  /  can't  help  it.  On- 
lucky  fer  yer,  'cause  it 's  two  thousand  dollars  right  out  o'  yer 
pocket.  Damn  'em  !  they  will  die  sometimes,  the  best  ov 
'em.  You  'd  oughter  charge  it  ter  Mettler.  He 's  the  cause 
ov  all  this.  An'  I  Ve  bin  a-tellin'  yer  this,  yer  know,  fer  three 
year,  an'  more." 

"  I  will  get  rid  of  that  man,  at  once,"  said  Brittan,  firmly. 
"  He  's  a  bad  fellow  to  have  about  this  place,  if  he  is  a  good 
farmer.  I  '11  get  rid  of  him,  to-morrow !" 

"That's  right.  That's  talking  right.  He's  p'isoned  all 
yer  niggers,  an'  they  arn't  wuth  a  straw.  Sen'  him  away,  an' 
Beck  '11  git  the  boys  inter  trim  agin,  arter  a  wile." 

"  I  will.     I  '11  do  it  at  once,"  said  Brittan. 

"  An'  now  Nory  's  dead  there  '11  be  no  further  trouble  'bout 


330  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

the  boy,"  said  Taskem,  in  a  business-like  way.  '*  I  '11  git  him 
off  in  the  niornin'." 

"  Well — perhaps  it  would  be  better  to — to — a — let  Buff  be 
for  a  few  days — a  few  days,  Taskem,  till  this  affair  blows 
over.  There 's  Katty,  you  see.  Ratty  '11  feel  bad.  What 
with  Ndra's  death,  and — " 

"  There  ye  're  weak  agin,  yer  see.  Wot  the  devil  do  IDC 
keer  'bout  Katty's  feelin'  bad,  I  'd  like  ter  know  ?  It 's  no 
bis'ness  o'  hern.  Nory  's  dead.  That  can't  be  help'd.  I 
must  git  away  ter-morrow,  sarfn,  boy  or  no  boy." 

"  Leave  him,  then,  Taskem.  Leave  him.  I  don't  want  any 
more  disturbance  here  at  present.  Leave  him.  His  mother 's 
gone,  and  there  exists  no  longer  a  necessity  that  he  should  be 
taken  away.  I  '11  keep  him  myself." 

"  Very  well,  Britt'n ;  jest  as  yer  say,"  replied  Taskem ; 
"  I  'm  agreeable.  But  this  don't  pay  me  for  the  bruises  I  Ve 
got  on  his  account,  though." 

"  We  '11  make  all  right,  Taskem,"  said  Brittan,  at  last ;  and 
the  slave-hunter  went  to  work  to  bathe  his  wounds  in  raw 
corn-whisky,  while  he  applied  an  occasional  half-tumbler  full 
inwardly,  "  to  keep  the  exterior  application  from  making  him 
faint,"  as  he  said  ! 

Early  next  morning  Taskem  departed,  with  his  head  and 
face  muffled  in  three  or  four  huge  handkerchiefs.  His  pros 
pect  with  Brittan  was  rather  dubious.  He  owed  him  four 
thousand  three  hundred  dollars,  and  this  was  about  his  entire 
fortune,  if  he  had  it  ready  in  hand ! 

It  was  found  impossible  to  raise  another  dollar  upon  the 
estate  at  Greenville,  and  the  only  hope  that  presented  itself 
either  to  Brittan  or  Taskem,  regarding  the  liquidation  of  the 


BRITTAN     AND     HIS     "FRIEND."  331 

latter's  claim  upon  him,  was  the  prospect  the  Englishman  fan 
cied  he  had  with  Timothy  Flash,  Esq.,  whom  he  resolved  Julie 
should  marry  as  soon  as  the  affair  could  possibly  be  accom 
plished. 

The  remains  of  poor  Nora  were  duly  disposed  of  on  the 
following  evening,  and  Katty  returned  to  the  house  after  the 
burial  of  her  sister,  with  the  boy  at  her  side,  whom  the  mother 
had  in  her  last  moments  committed  so  earnestly  to  her 
charge. 

Julie  Manning  was  deeply  affected  by  the  unhappy  result 
of  Taskein's  attempt  to  carry  off  the  child,  and  she  did  not 
hesitate  to  speak  freely  and  pointedly  to  Brittan,  at  the  first 
opportunity,  and  to  warn  him  again  against  the  influence 
which  this  wicked  man  evidently  exerted  upon  her  guardian's 
peace  and  temporal  well-being. 

And  beside  this,  she  had  other  reasons  (of  which  Brittan 
was  ignorant)  for  seeking  an  interview  with  him,  at  which 
she  could  speak  freely  and  dutifully. 

Julie  had  never  failed  in  respecting  her  guardian's  author 
ity,  and  she  had  constantly  striven  to  gratify  him,  and  to  com 
port  herself  obediently  to  his  wishes ;  but  she  never  loved 
him.  With  all  her  best  endeavors  so  to  do,  she  found  it  im 
possible  to  feel  any  affection  for  the  man,  whom  she  found 
continually  failing  in  his  moral  duties,  and  who  persisted  in 
his  course  of  tyranny  over  those  with  whom  she  sympathized, 
in  spite  of  all  other  associations  and  considerations  that  sur 
rounded  her. 

But  Brittan  never  listened  willingly,  and  refused  to  yield 
the  first  jot  in  his  determined  thirst  for  petty  power.  He 
loved  his  new  occupation,  and  she  despised  it  with  her  whole 


332  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

soul.  But  she  found  herself  compelled  to  submit  to  the  force 
of  circumstances,  and  she  made  the  best  of  her  unlucky  po 
sition  until  she  was  old  enough  to  judge  better  and  more  ma 
turely  of  right  and  wrong. 

Brittan's  ward  was  now  twenty  years  of  age.  She  had 
lived  among  slaves  and  slave-power  quite  as  long  as  she  de 
sired  to  do.  And  she  looked  forward  to  the  day,  now  close 
at  hand,  when  she  should  be  freed  from  further  annoyance 
on  this  score,  and  from  the  heart-burnings  with  which  she  had 
been  afflicted  in  consequence. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

JULIE'S     PARTING     ADVICE, 

Marvel  not  at  thy  life!    Patience  shall  see 

The  perfect  work  of  wisdom  to  her  given ; 
Hold  fast  thy  soul  through  this  high  mystery, 

And  it  shall  lead  thce  to  the  gates  of  Heaven ! 

FAXSY  KEMBLE  BUTLEE. 

"  I  CAN  never  agree  with  you — never,"  said  Julie  to  her 
guardian,  who  had  just  reiterated  his  opinion  that  his  present 
occupation  was  a  laudable  and  honorable  calling. 

"  For  years  I  have  now  passed  through  it  with  you,  and 
have  been  the  unwilling  witness  to  too  many  of  its  dark 
phases  and  its  daily  abuses,  ever  to  bring  my  mind  to  believe 
that  it  is  either  profitable,  morally  just,  or  merciful,  in  any  of 
its  ramifications.  The  sad  scene  now  just  closed,  sir,  confirms 
me  in  my  earlier  belief,  that,  at  the  best,  slavery  is  a  curse 
upon  this  people,  and  that  you,  Mr.  Brittan,  of  all  men,  should 
be  among  the  last  to  favor  it,  or  be  engaged  in  it." 

"  This  is  a  singular  position  for  you  to  assume,  Julie." 

"  Not  at  all  singular  or  novel  with  me,  I  assure  you,  sir. 
Have  I  not  a  thousand  times  expressed  these  sentiments  to 
you,  though  perhaps  not  so  decidedly  ?" 

"  Well,  you  've  talked  and — and — chattered,  and  pitied  the 
niggers,  I  know,"  said  Brittan.  "  But  as  T  've  a  mind  of  my 


334  T  HE     UAG-PICKER. 

own,  I  never  allow  children  to  influence  me.  You  're  a  child, 
yet,  Julie.  You  've  been  a  very  good  girl,  thus  far,  and  you 
mustn't  turn  abolitionist  now ;  it 's  too  late — too  late,  puss!" 

"  From  the  hour  when  I  first  knew  and  realized  that  you 
had  become  a  slaveholder,  I  have  never  changed  the  senti 
ments  I  then  found  naturally  implanted  in  my  breast,"  said 
Julie,  boldly.  "  I  have  in  no  wise  faltered  as  I  have  grown 
older,  and  had  the  opportunities  I  have  since  had  to  look  at 
this  subject  as  it  is •  and  though  I  have  been  compelled  to 
be  silent  when  my  heart  was  almost  breaking — though  I 
have  witnessed  the  baneful  effects  of  the  unholy  influences 
that  have  surrounded  you,  especially,  for  the  past  six  years — 
though  the  miseries  and  the  oppression  I  have  known  directly 
around  me  have  borne  heavily  upon  my  sympathies,  when  it 
was  out  of  my  power  to  alleviate  the  pains  and  the  sorrows 
of  the  heart-stricken  and  weary — I  have,  nevertheless,  been 
passive  and  unobtrusive,  lest  I  should  wound  the  feelings  or 
peril  the  personal  interests  of  my  friend,  my  guardian,  my 
protector !  But  the  hour  for  silence  is  past,  sir,  and  I  must 
speak  to  you — I  must  warn  you  now,  though  you  drive  me 
from  your  shelter,  and  banish  me  forever  from  your  presence 
and  your  regard !" 

"Why,  what  the  devil's  all  this?  Julie,  are  you  mad? 
What  does  it  mean  ?" 

"  It  means,  dear  guardian,  that  I  am  disposed  to  be  a  friend 
to  you  in  the  midst  of  your  temptations  and  error.  With 
the  scene  just  closed  fresh  within  your  remembrance — the 
death  of  poor  Nora  under  such  awfully  impressive  circum 
stances, — how  can  you  remain  dead  to  the  promptings  of  man's 
better  nature  ?  Can  it  be  possible  that  you,  like  that  heart- 


JULIE'S     PARTING     ADVICE.  335 

less  and  wicked  Taskem,  can  believe  that  these  poor  creatures 
are  not  possessed  of  hearts,  and  souls,  and  feelings,  like  our 
selves  ?" 

"  And  is  this  the  doctrine  that  you  preach  to  them,  too, 
Julie  ?  Have  you  so  far  forgotten  your  duty  to  me  and  to 
my  interests  as  to  broach  this  theory  in  their  presence,  for 
God's  sake  ?"  continued  Brittan,  excitedly.  "  Have  I  housed, 
and  fed,  and  clothed,  and  educated,  and  cared  for  you — you, 
Julie,  for  six  years — as  I  have — that  you  should  turn  upon 
me  thus,  at  last,  and  sting  me  ? 

'  O 

"  A  pretty  conceit  of  yours,  is  this,  to  be  sure  !  How  do 
you  know  these  niggers  have  any  hearts,  or  souls,  or  feel 
ings  ?  How  comes  it,  unless  you  have  conferred  with  them 
secretly,  that  you  know  of  their  feelings  and  their  murmurs  ? 
What  have  /  to  do  with  their  feelings  ?  They  're  my  proper  ty! 
I  buy  'em,  an'  pay  for  'em,"  continued  Brittan,  wanning  up  as 
he  proceeded,  and  evidently  alarmed  at  his  ward's  untimely 
interference  in  his  affairs. 

"  The  law  gives  me  control  of  these  niggers,  when  they  be 
come  mine.  I  purchase  them.  I  pay  my  money  for  them,  in 
good  round  hard  dollars,  and  they  become  mine,  girl !  Mine — 
bodies,  hearts,  souls,  feelings,  every  thing  they  possess  !  Mine, 
to  do  what  I  will  with  them — be  it  to  daudle  them  and  pet 
them,  or  to  work,  and  whip,  and  scourge  them,  if  I  like  !  And 
they  can't  complain,  either.  There  is  no  appeal  from  our 
clearly  legal  right,  in  the  premises.  If  they  've  got  hearts  and 
feelings,  why  should  we  know  it.  We  don't  want  their  hearts, 
or  their  souls !  we  want  their  bodies.  We  have  to  feed  and 
support  their  almost  worthless,  lazy,  lying,  filthy  carcases, 
from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  and  that 's  all  we  know  or  care 


336  THE     RAG-PICKEU. 

any  thing  about.  That  is  all  /  care  about.  If  they  behave 
themselves,  they  won't  be  abused  much ;  if  they  don't,  we 
must  force  them  to  do  well.  And  that 's  the  upshot  of  the 
whole  matter.  They  're  our  '  property' — poor  property  at 
that ! — and  we  '11  do  as  we  like  with  'em,  for  the  law  upholds 
us  in  this,  and  it 's  a  just,  and  equal,  and  righteous  law,  too. 
No,  no,  Julie  !  You  are  too  young  to  give  us  old  heads  ad 
vice  upon  these  little  points ;  and  I  'm  surprised  at  your 
advocacy  of  these  incendiary  notions." 

"  Is  it  possible,  then,  that  you  can,  from  habit,  have  so  soon 
become  callous  to  the  sympathies  that  animate  the  better  por 
tion  of  creation  ?"  said  Julie,  with  a  sigh.  "  Can  it  be,  Mr. 
Brittan,  that  you  will  blindly  pursue  this  miserable  avocation, 
about  the  details  of  which  you  can  know,  comparatively,  so 
little,  and  which  must  bring  down  pecuniary  ruin  upon  your 
head,  sooner  or  later  ?  Have  you  no  heart  to  feel  for  the  suf 
ferer — the  unfortunate  slave  who  is  thus  down-trodden  and 
abused  ?  And  will  you  persist  in  aiding  and  abetting,  with 
your  capital  and  your  influence,  the  furtherance  of  this  un 
godly  calling  ?  Have  you  no  ears  for  the  shouts  of  those 
who  sink  beneath  the  scourge  of  such  brutes  as  Beck  and 
Taskem  ?  No  sympathies  for  the  dying  mother  and  the 
weeping  little  ones  that  she  thus  leaves  behind  her  to  the 
task-master's  cold  charity  and  heartlessness  ?  Are  you  deaf 
to  all  appeal  ?  And  will  you  go  on — on,  to  destruction,  your 
self,  while  you  thus  assist  in  crushing  to  the  earth  the  poor 
wretches  whom  God  has  created,  and  to  whom  he  has  given 
living  souls  that  must  exist,  like  our  own,  for  good  or  ill,  to 
all  eternity  ?  Oh  !  guardian,  be  warned  in  time  !  And,  if  I 
never  again  appeal  to  you,  if  these  are  the  last  words  you  ever 


JULIE'S   PARTING   ADVICE.  337 

hear  your  Julie  utter,  let  me  beseech  you  to  turn  from  the 
error  of  your  ways,  and  crave  forgiveness  of  Him  who  holds 
our  destinies  in  the  hollow  of  His  hands,  and  who  is  the  great 
First  Author  of  light,  and  life,  and  liberty,  to  all  his  creatures  !" 

Poor  Julie  had  thus  performed  what  she  conceived  to  be  a 
final  act  of  duty  toward  Brittan,  but  she  might  as  well  have 
saved  her  appeal !  Her  words  had  no  more  effect  upon  his 
callousness  than  if  they  had  been  addressed  to  the  empty 
walls  of  the  room  they  sat  in ! 

"  She  's  a  nice  girl,  is  Julie,"  said  Brittan  to  himself,  as  she 
disappeared.  "  A  nice  girl,  and  a  very  clever  one.  But  she 's 
got  some  queer  notions  into  her  pretty  head.  Flash  '11  fix  all 
that  kind  of  nonsense  for  her.  He  knows  women,  does  Flash ! 
And  when  she  gets  him,  she  '11  find  that  he  '11  teach  her  a  very 
different  doctrine,  to  be  sure,  so  he  will.  Here  's  his  letter," 
continued  Brittan,  taking  up  the  missive  he  had  just  received 
from  that  amiable  gentleman,  and  reading  it  over  again — 

"  He  '11  be  here  to-morrow,"  continued  Brittan,  slowly. 
"  He  says  he  has  no  doubt  that  he  shall  be  able  to  consum 
mate  the  agreeable  object  of  his  visit,  within  a  fortnight ;  and, 
under  favorable  circumstances,  he  will  be  ready  to  complete 
his  business  arrangements,  so  as  to  relieve  me,  forthwith. 
Very  good,  very  good  ! 

"  Within  a  fortnight !"  exclaimed  Brittan.  "  Ah  !  if  my 
little  minx  imagined  that  she  would  be  a  wife  within  -a  fort 
night  from  to-night,  she  'd  have  something  else  to  be  thinking 
of,  besides  the  stupid  nonsense  that  seems  just  now  to  be 
troubling  her  girlish  brain,  to  be  sure.  But  she  little  suspects 
any  thing  of  this  sort,  I'm  thinking!"  concluded  Brittan, 
folding  up  the  letter  again. 

15 


338  THE     RAO-riCKER. 

The  door  opened,  and  Mettler  suddenly  presented  himself 
before  him. 

"  I  have  come,  Mr.  Brittan,"  he  said,  "  to  give  you  notice 
that  I  have  entered  into  engagements  which  will  require  me 
to  quit  your  service  at  an  early  day  ;  and  I  presume  you  will 
soon  find  some  one  to  fill  my  place  here." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  stammered  Brittan.  "  I  suppose  you  were  dis 
contented  from  certain  reports  that — that  have  reached  my 
ears,  in  reference  to  your  conduct  latterly,  and  I  am  not  sur 
prised  that  you  are  desirous  of  change.  You  have  done  pretty 
well  for  me,  but  you  are  not  severe  enough,  not  stern  enough ; 
that  is,  you  're  not  master  enough,  Mettler,  for  this  country, 
and  you  are  wise  in  quitting  it." 

"  I  have  got  along  very  well,  I  believe,  sir — without  much 
trouble  with  the  men  ;  and  I  hope  they  will  hereafter  continue 
to  do  as  well,  or  even  better,  for  you,  under  my  successor,  than 
they  have  done  under  me.  I  have  been  here,  now,  several 
years,  sir.  Your  farm  is  in  good  condition,  a  large  amount  of 
aggregate  labor  has  been  performed  upon  it  in  that  period, 
and  you  have  received  a  full  share  of  proportionate  profit 
from  it,  I  am  certain." 

"  Yes,  yes.     I  find  no  fault — no  fault,  sir." 

"  I  have  accomplished  all  this  with  the  aid  of  your  men ; 
and,  though  I  have  been  among  them  at  all  times,  at  all  sea 
sons,  in  all  kinds  of  weather,  and  under  all  ciicumstances,  I 
never  yet  raised  my  hand  against  one  of  them,  or  had  cause  to 
do  so  ;  and  I  believe  there  is  not  one  of  them  who  will  not 
regret  my  absence." 

"  Well,  of  that  I  know  nothing,  Mettler.  We  all  have  our 
faults,  sir — you  have  yours.  But,  no  matter,  you  can  go— go, 


JULIE'S   PARTI XG    ADVICE.  339 

when  you  're  ready.  Beck  will  hereafter  superintend  the 
place,  altogether ;  he 's  competent,  and  will  get  as  much  out 
of  the  niggers  as  any  body  ever  did,  or  can,  I  've  no  doubt. 
I  am  not  indebted  to  you,  I  believe  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  My  salary  is  paid  up  to  the  present  time. 
When  can  you  conveniently  permit  me  to  leave,  Mr.  Brit- 
tan  ?" 

"  Whenever  it  suits  your  pleasure,  Mettler.  Any  time ; 
to-night,  if  you  like." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Toney,  respectfully.  "  Good-evening, 
Mr.  Brittau." 

"  Good-night,"  said  the  Englishman,  dryly.  And  thus  they 
parted. 

Toney  had  already  informed  Julie,  accurately,  regarding 
his  own  private  history,  and  had  explained  to  her  satisfaction 
the  reason  for  his  change  of  name.  He  did  not  omit,  either, 
to  disclose  to  her  the  details  of  Brittan's  early  career,  as  he 
had  gathered  it  from  Nappo's  lips,  latterly,  from  time  to  time, 
which  deeply  interested  her — the  more  so,  when  she  saw  that 
Toney  was  related  to  her  guardian  so  nearly  ! 

Julie  did  not  fail  to  make  new  suggestions  to  her  lover, 
directly,  having  reference  to  the  probability  that  his  parents 
might  perhaps  be  still  living ;  how  it  became  his  duty  to 
search  for  them ;  how  it  might  render  their  declining  days 
happy  to  know  that  their  child — their  children — were  alive 
and  prosperous ;  and  a  hundred  other  arguments  were  ad 
vanced  by  Julie  to  influence  and  direct  Toncy's  mind  toward 
his  parents  and  his  former  home. 

But  all  this  interchange  of  sentiments  had  been  conducted 
gecretlv.  Tonev  still  retaining  his  assumed  name  of  Mettler, 


340  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

for  his  own  purposes,  for  the  present,  and  designing  at  the 
proper  opportunity  to  undeceive  old  Brittan  in  his  own 
chosen  way. 

In  the  mean  time,  all  the  arrangements  for  his  departure 
from  Greenville  had  been  made,  and  he  would  soon  bid  fare 
well  to  Kentucky  and  her  abuses. 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 

THE     MIDNIGHT     DRIVE. 

Breathe,  breathe  again,  ye  free, 

The  air  of  liberty— 
The  native  air  of  wisdom,  virtue,  joy ! 

And,  might  ye  know  to  keep 

The  golden  wealth  ye  reap, 
Not  thrice  ten  years  of  terror  and  annoy, 
And  pitiless  oppression,  were  a  price  too  high ! 

J.  HERMAN  MEIUTALE. 

IT  was  a  clear  but  dark  niglit,  and  the  young  moon  had 
set  in  the  west  two  hours  before  midnight. 

Half  a  mile  down  the  narrow  road  that  led  to  the  north 
west  of  Brittan's  house,  through  a  deep  piece  of  woods,  there 
stood  a  vehicle  with  a  pair  of  strange  horses  before  it.  A 
man  whose  form  only  could  be  distinctly  traced,  and  whose 
color  could  not  be  distinguished  amid  the  darkness,  came 
stealthily  up  with  a  large  trunk  upon  his  shoulder,  which  was 
carefully  stowed  in  the  rear  of  the  carriage.  Soon  afterward 
he  came  again,  with  another  similar  package,  and  left  the 
place  quietly  as  soon  as  he  had  disposed  of  his  burden. 

"No,  Toney,  I  have  not  altered  my  mind  on  that  point," 
whispered  Julie,  as  she  hung  upon  the  arm  of  Mettler,  be 
neath  the  shadows  of  their  little  arbor  in  Brittan's  garden ; 
"I  can  not  see  that  we  ought  to  leave  her  and  that  child 
behind." 


342  THE      RAG-PICKEK. 

"  Why  not  take  them  all,  upon  this  same  principle,  then  ?" 
said  Toney.  "  I  am  quite  as  well  inclined  to  assist  the  whole 
of  them  away,  as  to  aid  one  or  two.  And  I  would  to  God 
every  one  of  them  were  free  to-night.  But  we  must  not — you 
must  not — expose  yourself  to  the  rigor  of  that  law  which 
would  implicate  you  as  being  accessory  to  Katty's  escape,  you 
see ;  for  the  penalty  is  altogether  too  severe  for  the  risk." 

"  Well,  I  shall  be  advised  by  you,  of  course.  But,  oh,  how 
can  I  leave  poor  Katty  and  Buff  to  their  mercies  ?" 

"  There  is  a  moral  right,  too,  involved  in  this  affair,  you  see, 
Julie.  It  is  decoying  from  Brittan's  rightful  and  legal  pos 
session  his  property,  his  chattels,  his  goods,  you  know.  That 
would  be  but  simple  theft,  in  fact ;  and  you  don't  feel  am 
bitious  to  figure  as  a  slave-thief,  I  take  it,  eh  ?" 

"  Your  arguments,  in  this  vein,  won't  weigh  heavily  with 
me,  you  know,  Toney ;  nor  are  you  serious  in  your  speech,  I 
dare  affirm,  now.  Where  is  Nappo  ?" 

"Safe,  I  've  no  doubt !"  said  Toney. 

"  Where  ?     Safe,  where,  Toney  ?" 

"That  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  I  saw  him  but  a  few 
moments  since,  at  the  corner  of  the  garden,  yonder." 

"  How  is  it  that  he  is  absent  from  his  cabin,  at  this  hour  ? 
Is  Beck  aware  of  it  ?" 

"  Probably  not,"  said  Toney.  "  But  I  presume  our  move 
ments  are  not  better  known  than  are  his.  I  will  leave 
you  here  for  a  short  time,  and  when  I  return  again,  you  will 
be  in  readiness  to  say  adieu  to  these  precincts,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  Toney — now,  now." 

"  I  want  to  take  leave  of  Nappo,  and  then  I  have  done ! — 
'sh!  Who  is  that?" 


THE     MIDNIGHT    DRIVE.  343 

"Nothing  but  the  wind." 

"  Hark !  there  is  more  than  one  footstep  there,"  said  Toney, 
peering  out  into  the  darkness. 

But  Julie  could  see  nothing,  and  Toney  started  across  the 
garden,  in  the  direction  of  the  sound  he  had  just  heard. 

"  Is  that  you,  Nappo  ?" 

"  Yis,  massa,  yis,"  said  the  negro,  in  a  whisper. 

"  What  are  you  doing  out  here,  at  this  late  hour  1  And 
Katty,  too  ?  and  the  boy  ?  Does  Beck  know  .you  're  here  ?" 

"  Reck'n  not,  massa !" 

"  Well,  what  are  you  after?" 

"  A  smell  ob  de  fresh  air,  massa — de  fresh  free  air  ob  heb- 
ben,  dass  all ;"  replied  the  negro,  significantly. 

"  Well,  we  're  going,  Nappo." 

"  We  ?"  exclaimed  the  negro,  "  we — w'ot  we,  massa  ?" 

"  I  had  forgot.  No  matter,  Nappo.  Good-by.  Good- 
by,  Katty" — and  putting  a  purse  in  her  hand — "  here  's  a 
little  present  from  your  mistress.  Remember,  Nappo,  if  you — " 

"  I  'member,  massa.  I  nebber  forget  'im.  Got  'im  marked 
down  up  dar,  for  sart'n,"  said  Nappo,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
forehead — "Lucj'berg,  Green  Ribber,  Harps'ed,  'hio,  free 
dom  !  God  bless  yer,  Massa  Mettler.  Good-by  !  I  see — I 
see — missy  gwine,  too — he,  he — good-by  !" 

And  pressing  the  hand  of  Toney,  the  three  slaves,  Nappo, 
Katty  and  the  child,  disappeared  amid  the  darkness  of  the 
night. 

As  the  old  family  clock  struck  the  hour  of  twelve  that 
night,  Toney  and  Julie  hastened  down  the  narrow  road,  and 
took  possession  of  the  vehicle  in  which  had  previously  been 
stowed  the  luggage  mentioned.  Five  minutes  afterward  the 


344  THE    BAa-PICKER. 

horses  started  into  a  brisk  trot  on  the  way  to  the  North, 
bearing  Brittan's  ward  and  her  affianced  lover  from  the  scenes 
of  their  early  acquaintance — forever  ! 

Brittan  slept.  He  slept  soundly,  and  easily,  on  his  com 
fortable  couch,  and  never  dreamed  of  his  poor  creature  "  prop 
erty,"  as  it  huddled  away  among  the  straw  and  rags  and 
filth  of  the  flimsy  cabin-shelters  he  provided  it  with  ! 

Timothy  Flash,  Esq.,  had  not  arrived.  Brittan  confidently 
expected  him,  but  he  was  disappointed.  At  an  early  hour  the 
next  day,  however,  he  presented  himself ;  and  the  Englishman 
was  rejoiced  to  see  him. 

Julie  was  not  present  at  breakfast.  The  two  gentleman 
went  out  together  for  a  little  exercise,  and  to  re-arrange  the 
details  of  their  plot.  They  were  detained,  and  did  not  return 
to  the  house  until  noon.  Meantime  Beck  supposed  that 
Nappo  was  engaged  in  Toney's  service  temporarily.  The 
rest  of'  the  household  imagined  "  missus"  was  not  so  well  as 
usual,  and  did  not  attempt  to  disturb  her.  Katty  was  her 
own  especial  attendant,  and  she  was  not  inquired  for.  And 
finally  the  master  and  his  flashy  visitor  returned.  They  en 
joyed  a  bottle  of  wine  together,  leisurely,  after  reaching  the 
house  again — and  then,  for  the  first  time,  Brittan  rang,  and 
inquired  for  Miss  Julie. 

She  had  not  been  down,  that  morning. 

This  was  singular — unfortunate.     Was  she  sick  ? 

Nobody  knew.  Inquiries  were  then  made,  and  her  room 
was  found  empty  ! 

Mettler  had  gone,  too.  And  so  had  Katty,  and  the  boy. 
And  so  had  Nappo  !  Not  one  of  them  could  any  where  be 
found,  or  heard  of ! 


THE    MIDNIGHT    DRIVE.  345 

And  then  followed  a  scene  of  rare  confusion — within  and 
without  the  dwelling  of  Anthony  Brittan,  Esquire  ! 

"  What  does  all  this  signify  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Flash,  who 
began  to  suspect  the  truth,  though  he  could  scarcely  bring 
himself  to  believe  his  fears. 

"  This  is  more  than  I  can  answer,  my  friend.  Surely  $omc- 
thing  extraordinary  has  occurred,"  said  Brittan. 

By  three  or  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  this  matter  had 
been  looked  into  sufficiently  to  satisfy  Brittan  that  Julie  and 
Touey  had  fled,  and  he  supposed  that  they  had  enticed  away 
his  missing  trio  of  slaves,  too.  He  could  not,  for  the  life  of 
him,  fathom  this  mystery,  however  \  for  he  had  never  enter 
tained  the  slightest  idea  that  Julie  had  fancied  his  foreman — 
and  he  could  not,  would  not  suffer  himself  thus  to  construe  it. 

In  the  mean  time,  however,  Toney  had  put  nearly  a  hundred 
miles  between  himself  and  Greenville  ;  and  he  was  still  pushing 
on — on — with  all  the  speed  available,  toward  the  Ohio  River ; 
intending  to  proceed  to  Carthage — where  his  marriage  with 
Julie  was  to  take  place — and  thence  to  join  old  Davy  and 

Came  at  their  pleasant  little  home,  near  the  village  of  E , 

in  the  State  of  New  York. 

They  met  with  no  inconvenience  or  trouble,  the  journey 
was  a  pleasant  but  a  rapid  one,  they  reached  their  destina 
tion  in  safety,  and  were  united  in  the  bonds  of  matrimony. 
This  part  of  their  expedition  having  been  duly  consummated, 

they  proceeded  on  their  way,  and  finally  reached ,  on 

'  the  northerly  side  of  the  Ohio  River — where  Toney  advised  a 
halt;  that  they  might  find  any  chance  acquaintances,  who 
might  possibly  turn  up  in  that  vicinity. 

15* 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

QUERIES,  DOUBTS,  AND  FEARS. 

All  true  glory  rests, 

All  praise  of  safety,  and  nil  happiness, 
Upon  the  moral  law. 

WORDSWORTH. 

WHETHER  Toney  had  rendered  any  further  secret  aid  or 
counsel  to  Nappo  and  his  associate  fugitive  friends,  we  are 
not  advised ;  and  if  he  were  cognizant  of  the  intended  move 
ments  of  that  individual  after  he  parted  with  him  on  the 
night  that  he  himself  left  Greenville  so  unceremoniously,  did 
not  transpire ;  but,  from  the  conversation  that  passed  between 
the  slave  and  Brittan's  foreman  upon  the  farm,  from  time  to 
time  (after  Toney  informed  him  that  he  had  concluded  to  leave 
Kentucky),  it  is  certain  that  Nappo's  geographical  knowledge 
had  been  greatly  sharpened,  as  subsequent  events  very  clearly 
proved. 

How  they  reached  Lewisburg  unmolested  it  matters  not, 
since  this  was  the  fact ;  how  they  hastened  on  to  Green  River 
thence,  and  thence  to  Harpshead,  without  being  discovered  or 
suspected  by  the  way,  it  is  altogether  immaterial  to  know. 
By  what  means  or  conveyance  they  traveled  up  the  valley, 
and  run  the  gauntlet  through  a  horde  of  lynx-eyed  man-trap 
pers  dwelling  in  that  region,  who  are  ordinarily  on  the  qui 


QUERIES,    DOUBTS,    AND     FKARS.  347 

vive  there  for  runaways,  it  is  needless  now  to  inquire  into. 
And  how  the  three  poor  creatures,  weary  and  worn  down  with 
travel  and  fasting,  and  apprehension  and  mishaps,  arrived  at 
length  in  the  vicinity  of  Carthage,  and,  though  starving, 
dared  not  approach  the  town  lest  they  should  be  arrested  on 
suspicion,  we  will  now  merely  hint  at. 

That  Nappo  and  Katty  and  the  boy  did  thus  succeed  in 
reaching  the  southern  bank  of  the  Ohio  River,  at  length,  is, 
nevertheless,  true.  And,  as  they  gazed  for  'the  first  time 
upon  its  placid  waters,  and  saw  and  felt  that  that  stream  now 
only  flowed  between  them  and  liberty,  oh  !  how  fervently  did 
the  thanks  of  Nappo  and  Katty  rise  to  their  great  Deliv 
erer  for  their  preservation  thus  far,  and  for  the  calm  but 
joyful  promise  that  there  lay  directly  before  them  ! 

But  the  last  crust  was  gone.  The  child  had  long  been 
wearied  out  and  spirit-broken,  for  the  little  fellow  could  real 
ize  nothing  of  his  situation,  and  he  cried  for  food  where  there 
was  none  to  give,  and  where  none  could  be  had.  The  spirits 
of  Nappo  and  Katty  had  been  kept  up  by  the  prospect  before 
them,  though  they  too  were  fearfully  hungry  and  weary,  and 
foot-sore.  Yet  they  journeyed  on  by  night,  and  concealed 
themselves  cautiously  by  day,  until  at  length  in  safety  they 
reached  the  shores  of  the  Ohio. 

In  the  mean  time,  as  soon  as  Brittan  became  satisfied  that 
the  slaves  had  actually  decamped,  he  took  r.ctive  measures  to 
reclaim  them.  Scouts  were  sent  upon  their  supposed  tracks, 
in  every  direction  ;  they  were  forthwith  advertised  in  the 
county  journals ;  Beck  himself  started  upon  their  trail,  with 
orders  to  return  them,  dead  or  alive,  to  their  master ;  and 
every  known  measure  was  resorted  to  to  recapture  the  fleeino- 


348  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

trio,  and  bring  them  back  to  bondage  and  the  scourge  for 
their  audacity  and  offense,  in  thus  presuming  to  choose  free 
dom  to  servitude ! 

The  following  placard  was  posted  liberally  and  conspicu 
ously  in  the  towns  through  which  it  was  presumed  they  would 
pass : 

STOP  THEM  I     $500  REWARD  !  ! 

RAN  AWAY  from  the  premises  of  the  subscriber,  on  the  night  of  the 
13th  instant,  THJIEE  slaves — a  man,  woman,  and  child — supposed  to 
be  helped  away  by  a  white  man  named  Toney  Mettler,  a  Yankee,  from 
Connecticut. 

The  man  is  a  dark-colored  negro,  five  feet  ten  inches  high,  stout  and 
muscular,  even-featured,  and  thirty-six  years  old — appears  younger. 
Is  a  little  lame  in  the  left  leg,  has  a  scar  upon  the  right  cheek,  and  a 
long  narrow  one  upon  the  top  of  the  head.  His  name  is  Nappo  Duroc. 
Is  a  man  of  all- work. 

The  woman  is  almost  white,  handsome,  and  delicately  made,  twenty 
years  old,  black  eyes,  and  long  black  hair,  very  intelligent,  five  feet 
one  inch  high,  was  well  dressed,  and  would  pass  for  a  white  woman. 
She  answers  to  the  name  of  Katty. 

The  boy  is  quite  white,  black  curly  hair,  six  years  old,  and  is  called 
Buff.  Is  pert  and  active,  and  calls  the  woman  "  anty." 

I  will  pay  Jive  hundred  dollars  for  their  recovery,  or  to  any  party  who 
will  lodge  them  securely  in  any  jail  in  Kentucky  (or  elsewhere),  where 
they  can  be  found.  AXTIIOXY  BRITTAN. 

GREENVILLE,  • ,  1S3-. 

But  the  most  mortifying,  crushing,  unlucky  event  of  Brit- 
tan's  whole  life,  was  the  inexplicable  conduct  of  his  ward. 

To  his  mind  it  was  monstrous  !  He  could  conceive  of  no 
possible  cause  why  Julie  should  thus  desert  him  at  all ;  and 
he  could  not  bring  his  mind  to  believe  that  she  entertained  any 
feelings  of  affection  toward  his  late  foreman.  True,  he  had 
saved  her  life  on  a  certain  occasion,  but  he  had  himself  ac 
knowledged,  at  the  time,  that  he  could  not  have  helped  doing 
this  if  he  would  !  Not  the  slightest  evidence  of  the  existence 


QUERIES,    DOUBTS,    AND     FEARS.  349 

of  any  attachment  between  them  had  he  ever  witnessed  or 
dreamed  of !  And  this  could  not  be  ;  it  was  impossible  that 
Julie  should  have  absented  herself  with  him  ! 

She  was  gone,  however — that  was  certain.  It  might  be 
that,  in  her  sympathy  for  Katty  and  the  boy  (ah  !  how  Brit- 
tan  now  wished  that  he  had  never  seen  the  quadroons  and  the 
child !) — it  might  be  that,  for  the  sake  of  aiding  them,  she 
had  forgotten  her  duty  to  him,  and  had  left,  temporarily  only, 
to  assist  Katty  and  Buff  to  escape — directly  or  indirectly — 
perhaps.  Even  this  was  unpardonable. 

Yet  Julie  might  return,  he  thought.  That  is,  he  hoped  she 
would.  And  she  might  explain  herself.  At  any  rate,  she 
would  certainly  come  back  again.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
upon  this  point.  She  would  come  back  and  claim  his  forgive 
ness  for  her  short-sightedness  and  folly,  and  foolish  sympathy 
for  the  cursed  niggers,  that  had  given  him  so  much  trouble, 
and  which  were  not  yet  paid  for  !  Then  he  would  have  her 
at  his  mercy  !  That  was  it — capital !  "  It  is  an  ill  wind,"  ex 
claimed  the  desperate  man,  "  that  bodes  nobody  good  !" 

And  thus  old  Brittan  continued  to  argue  : 

"  Julie  will  return.  She  has  committed  a  very  serious 
fault.  She  is  amenable  to  the  law — to  the  law — which  she 
has  thus  ruthlessly  and  foolishly  violated.  In  her  silly  girl 
ish  sympathy  for  what  she  calls  the  "  oppressed,"  she  has 
forgotten  all  else.  She  has  overlooked  the  fact  that  we  have 
rights — that  /  have  rights !  She  has  gone  too  far — too 
far !"  continued  Brittan,  slowly.  "  But  it  is  well — very  well, 
as  it  is.  I  will  play  my  own  game,  now. 

"As  soon  as  she  returns  I  will  calmly — calmly  lay  before 
hev  the  heinousness  of  the  offeusp  she  has  committed,  nnd  T  '11 


350  THE    KAG-PICKEK. 

show  her  how  I  could  (if  I  chose  to  be  severe  with  her) — I  '11 
show  her  how  I  could — a — punish  her  !  This  will  do — excel 
lent  !  She  '11  be  alarmed,  of  course — fearfully  alarmed — be 
cause  she  knows  when  Anthony  Brittan  says  he  will  accom 
plish  any  thing  he  is  not  easily  turned  from  his  purpose. 
She  will  repent  of  her  error,  ask  forgiveness — ask  my  forgive 
ness — ha !  ha ! — and  I  will  grant  it.  I  will  receive  her  to 
my  arms  again ;  I  will  promise  her  my  protection  again 
(though  she  has  so  deeply  offended),  and  I  will  not  visit  upon 
her  head  the  punishment  she  has  thus  evidently  merited — 
upon  one  condition  !"  concluded  Brittan,  springing  to  his  feet. 
"  I  have  it  now — I  have  it !  I  will  forgive  and  pass  over  her 
offense — but  she  must  instantly  marry  my  friend,  Timothy 
Flash,  Esquire." 

Such  were  the  flattering  imaginings  that  Brittan  coined 
for  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  ruin  which  now  really  encom 
passed  him,  but  which  he  could  not  yet  see  clearly.  His  last 
scheme  for  the  propping  up  of  his  falling  fortunes  was  the 
accomplishment  of  Julie's  union  with  his  dissolute  but  rich 
friend,  who  would  accommodate  him  with  the  loan  he  re 
quired  when  he  brought  this  matter  to  the  desired  crisis. 

But — it  suddenly  occurred  to  Brittan — suppose  that  Julie 
did  not  return  ? 

He  did  not  give  the  suggestion  much  consideration,  for  the 
answer  to  this  rather  pointed  query  was  brief  and  final — he 
feared ! 

In  the  event  that  Julie  had  run  aAvay,  too — in  case  she  did 
not  return  to  Greenville  (which  she  would,  he  believed,  of 
course) — why,  then — Anthony  Brittan,  Esquire,  was  totally 
and  irretrievably  ruined  !  This  was  final  and  conclusive. 


QUERIES,    DOUBTS,    AND     FEAES.  351 

Mr.  Flash  looked  upon  the  whole  of  the  proceedings  as 
being  "peculiarly  extror'nery,"  to  use  his  own  expression. 
He  could  not  see  how  so  beautiful  a  girl  could  possibly  have 
been  tempted  to  elope  with  the  buffoon  Brittan  described  To- 
ney  to  be  !  As  to  her  sympathy  for  niggers,  he  did  not  know 
what  kind  of  a  feeling  that  was,  railly.  He  had  been  among 
niggers  all  his  life,  and  he  had  never  seen  any  treatment  ex 
tended  to  the  poor  devils  except  what  appeared  to  be  "  about 
the  thing,"  all  things  considered. 

To  be  sure,  occasionally  he  had  met  with  "  a  cross-grained" 
rascal  among  'em  that  had  to  be  tied  up  to  a  beam  by  his 
thumbs  and  scored,  almost  daily,  to  make  him  work,  when  he 
strove  to  make  his  master  believe  he  was  sick.  And  he  had 
known  of  one  or  two  she-niggers  that  had  to  be  stripped  reg 
ularly  of  a  morning  and  laced  down  with  a  raw-hide,  to  fetch 
them  to  their  business.  He  had  even  heard  of  instances  in 
"  breaking  the  brutes  in,"  where  they  were  "  brought  down 
to  it"  by  a  flaying  of  thirty  or  forty  lashes  of  an  afternoon, 
but  the  effect,  usually,  was  only  to  give  the  rascal  a  "  stinging 
appetite"  for  his  corn-mush,  a  night !  He  had  never  heard 
of  but  one  or  two  instances  of  whipping  a  nigger  to  death, 
absolutely,  but  that  was  in  Georgia,  where  he  had  run  away 
twice  and  had  been  caught  again  by  the  dogs  that  were  sent 
after  him.  When  the  driver  got  him  home  the  last  time — he 
had  had  a  mighty  deal  of  trouble  with  him  before,  and  he 
was  naturally  a  little  mad  when  he  was  brought  in — he  struck 
him  an  unlucky  blow  on  the  temple,  and  the  fool  fell  down, 
and — and  did  not  get  up  again,  at  all ! 

"  As  to  sympathy  for  'em,"  contimied  Mr.  Flash,  with  a 
flourish  of  his  huge  watch-seals,  "  /  hain't  any  for.  'em,  no- 


352  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

how,  'cause  it's  no  kind  o'  use,  whatever.  Natur's  made 
women  soft-headed  as  well  as  soft-hearted.  They  talk  about 
sufferin',  and  abuse,  and  hardships,  and  all  that,  as  ef  they 
know'd  what  they  wus  chattering  about.  Yer  never  hear  'em 
say  nothin'  about  'busing  horses,  and  cattle,  and  dogs  !  Queer 
creeturs,  these  women.  They  make  a  distinction,  yer  see, 
Brittan,  'twixt  the  different  kinds  o'  cattle.  I  never  see  the 
philosophy  of  this,  myself — never,"  concluded  Mr.  Flash. 

But  the  bird  had  flown.  No  clew  was  had  to  the  fugitives, 
for  several  days. 

Mr.  Flash  got  tired  of  waiting  for  Julie's  reappearance,  and 
he  took  leave  of  his  friend,  at  length,  promising  to  return 
again  whenever  Brittan  would  inform  him,  by  post,  of  the 
capture  of  the  runaways  or  the  arrival  of  his  ward. 

And  Brittan  sat  down  to  await  the  coming  of  Julie,  who 
had  then  been  three  days  a  wife  ! 


CHAPTER  LX. 

PASSING    THE     RUBICON, 

Now,  though  evening  shadows  blacken, 
And  no  star  courses  through  the  glooin, 

On  we  move,  nor  will  we  slacken 
Sail,  though  verging  t'wards  the  tomb. 

Bright  beyond,  on  heaven's  high  strand, 
Lo,  the  lighthouse !  land,  land,  land ! 

JAMES  MONTGOMERY. 

"  BAR  '  tis !  dar  '  tis !  Praise  de  Lord,  Katty !  Dar  's  de 
'hio  ribber,  fer  sart'n  !" 

"  D'  yer  know  it,  Nappo  ?  Do  yer  know  dat  's  de  'hio  ?" 
queried  Katty,  as  they  passed  out  from  the  top  of  a  rock,  a 
mile  to  the  southward  of  the  water,  but  from  which  they 
could  plainly  see  a  broad  bend  in  the  river.  "  Are  you  sure 
on  it  ?" 

"  It  can't  be  nuff'n  else,  Katty ;  can't  be,  you  see.  'Ere 
we  've  bin  'mose  a  week  coniin'  up,  norf — norf,  all  de  time. 
Dat  muss  be  de  'hio ;  an'  soon 's  it  git  dark  'gin,  bless  God ! 
we  '11  cross  ober,  an'  den  we  's  in  de  free  land  altogedder,  for- 
ebber  an'  ebber,  tank  de  Lord  !" 

"  But  how 's  yer  gwine  ter  git  ober  dar  ?"  asked  Katty. 
"  How 's  yer  gwine  ter  do  dat  ?" 

This  question  rather  puzzled  Nappo.     He  could  not  answer 


354  THK     RAG-PICKER. 

it.  He  did  not  know  precisely  where  they  were,  but  he  fell 
sure  that  that  stream  must  be  passed  before  he  could  really 
begin  to  be  free  again.  They  had  found  Green  River,  as  they 
expected  to  do,  and  had  left  it  far  away  to  the  eastward.  He 
was  sure  this  was  the  Ohio. 

It  was  now  nearly  noon.  They  had  been  skulking  since 
daylight.  Buff  had  been  kept  quiet  latterly  only  by  constant 
threats  that  the  Buckra-man  was  after  them  all ;  and  though 
he  was  nearly  starved,  and  sick,  and  worn  out  with  the  hard 
ships  he  had  just  experienced,  he  still  held  up,  and  was  as 
quiet  and  cautious  as  he  could  well  be. 

Katty  did  not  complain.  She  had  never  known  what  it 
was  to  breathe  "  free"  air,  but  she  had  for  twenty  years  expe 
rienced  its  opposite  !  She  was  content  to  abide  the  result, 
and  craved  the  change,  at  least  by  way  of  experiment ! 

Nappo  had  known  the  sweets  of  temporary  liberty;  and 
oh  !  how  his  heart  yearned  once  more  for  the  bright  sunshine 
and  gentle  skies  beyond,  and  to  behold,  perhaps,  the  smiling 
faces  of  those  whom  he  remembered  in  his  earlier  years,  and 
who  came  and  went  when  they  would  and  as  they  would, 
without  being  subject  to  the  frown  and  the  scourge  of  an  un 
relenting  and  brutal  task-master ! 

Before  nightfall,  Nappo  had  quietly  gathered  together  a 
mass  of  small  logs,  that  had  been  cut  for  steamboat  uses,  near 
the  river's  edge,  with  which  he  commenced  to  construct  a 
rude  raft.  He  had  no  implement  whatever  except  a  pocket- 
knife  that  he  had  taken  with  him,  and  which  served  him  to 
cut  and  split  a  few  young  saplings,  with  which  he  at  last 
bound  the  ends  of  the  logs  together. 

In  this  work  he  was  unobserved ;    and  diligently  did  he 


PASSING     THE     RUBICON.  355 

labor  to  prepare  the  rough  mass  of  wood,  and  secure  it  in  a» 
body,  so  that  it  should  serve  to  sustain  the  weight  of  himself, 
and  Katty,  and  the  boy,  across  the  river.  And  Katty  was  not 
idle  by  any  means,  in  the  mean  time.  Though  she  had  been 
unused  to  such  rude  treatment  and  such  toil,  she  aided  Nappo 
in  arranging  the  logs,  and  in  tying  them  together  ;  and  when 
one  parcel  had  been  so  secured,  a  similar  layer  of  sticks  was 
placed  cross-wise  upon  the  others,  for  greater  strength  and 
safety ;  and  finally,  beneath  the  rays  of  the  softly-shining 
moon,  at  midnight,  with  no  eye  upon  their  movements  save 
His  "  who  shelters  the  fatherless,  and  succors  the  distressed  of 
all  nations,"  the  humble  refugees  embarked  upon  their  doubt 
ful  vovage. 

•/       O 

The  wind  was  blowing  freshly  from  the  southwestward. 
The  only  peril  they  now  stood  in  fear  of — except  discovery 
from  the  shore,  possibly — was  that  of  being  run  down  by  the 
steamboats  that  were  then  passing  up  or  down  the  river.  As 
these  came  and  went  but  seldom,  they  hoped  to  get  across 
the  stream  without  being  injured  in  this  way.  As  they  were 
destitute  of  oar  or  sail,  however,  there  was  no  way  to  avoid 
this  jeopardy,  and  they  were  compelled  to  take  the  risk,  and 
trust  to  their  fate. 

With  difficulty  and  hard  toiling  only  did  they  at  length  get 
their  somewhat  cumbrous  raft  afloat — for  it  had  been  con 
structed  too  far  from  the  water's  edge.  They  finally  saw  it  in 
the  river  fairly,  and,  with  a  last  prayer  for  eventual  success, 
they  stepped  upon  their  reeling,  swaying  bark,  and  pushed  out 
from  the  shore,  toward  the  State  of  Illinois. 

The  raft  very  soon  fell  into  the  current  of  the  river.  Nappo 
had  provided  himself  with  a  thin  slab  of  wood,  which  he 


356  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

thought  might  answer  the  purpose  of  a  rudder  (for  lack  of  any 
thing  better),  and  with  which  he  continued  to  paddle  the  raft 
on  a  little  to  windward,  as  it  continued  to  float  down  the 
stream.  By  the  aid  of  this  and  the  fresh  breeze  that  blew 
from  the  Kentucky  shore,  they  continued  on,  in  safety,  and 
prosperously,  and  every  moment  every  stroke  of  his  huge, 
clumsy  paddle,  bore  them  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  land  of 
liberty ! 

"  We  '11  git  dar  !  we  '11  git  dar,  Katty,  sure  's  de  Lord  libs  in 
heb'n !"  said  Nappo,  dashing  his  paddle  into  the  water, 
steadily  and  firmly,  while  the  raft  moved  slowly  but  cer 
tainly  forward  to  the  opposite  shore,  though  it  continually 
floated  down  stream  at  the  same  time. 

"  We  '11  git  dar,  Katty  !  Bress  de  Lord,  fer  dis — fer  dis 
dark  night,  an'  dis  raft,  an'  eb'ry  ting  in  dis  worl' !"  exclaimed 
the  poor,  struggling,  starving,  almost  exhausted  Nappo ! 
"  We  '11  be  dar  'n  a  few  minits,  an'  den  soon 's  we  put  foot  on 
dat  'ar  shore  yonder,  den  we  's  free — -free  !  Katty !  Free,  for 
ebber  an'  ebber  more  !" 

"  Ef  dey  duzz  n't  cotch  us  ag'in,  Nappo." 

"  Cotch  us  !  Ha,  ha  !  Dey  '11  nebber  cotch  dis  chile  no 
more.  No,  no  !  Tank  de  good  Lord,  I  knows  'em ;  an'  ef 
dey  ebber  cotches  Nappo  'gin,  he  nebber '11  run  off  from  'em 
no  more,  fer  sart'n — dass  a  fack.  But  we  '11  see  'f  dey  cotch 
'urn !" 

An  eddy  that  made  in  shoreward  drew  the  raft  within  its 
circle  at  this  moment,  and,  as  it  swung  round,  a  heavy  steamer 
hove  suddenly  in  sight  from  below  the  point,  coming  up  the 
river  at  a  sharp  speed,  almost  directly  upon  the  raft. 

Nappo  and  Katty  were  seriously  alarmed,  as  the  great  pon- 


PASSING    THE    RUBICON.  357 

derous  vessel  came  thumping  on,  -with  its  two  noisy  high- 
pressure  engines,  lest  they  should  be  run  down  and  dashed  in 
pieces  by  the  monster-paddles.  But  the  steamer  wheeled 
around  the  point,  shot  up  again  into  the  main  current,  and 
left  a  rushing  wake  behind  her  that  only  served  to  drive  the 
raft  ashore  within  the  next  three  minutes,  in  perfect  safety  ! 

"  Bress  God  !  Praise  de  Lord,  Katty !  Quick,  quick  !  come* 
along,  fast 's  you  ken — up  dis  way !  Up  yere — up  yere  !"  ex 
claimed  Nappo,  as  he  seized  with  one  hand  a  hand  of  the  girl, 
and  with  the  other  grasped  the  little  wrist  of  Buff,  and  hast 
ened  away  from  the  shore.  "  Come  'long,  come  'long,  an' 
bress  God  all  de  time !  We  's  in  de  land  ob  liberty,  an'  free 
dom,  an'  Hail  Columby,  an'  de  Declerash'n  ob  Independence, 
fer  sart'n  !  Come  'long,  den,  Katty.  We 's  all  safe  an'  soun', 
now,  praise  de  Lord ;  an'  we  '11  fin'  fren's  up  yere — come 
'long !"  And  away  hurried  the  trio,  as  fast  as  their  wearied 
limbs  would  permit,  though  Nappo  had  n't  the  slightest  idea 
where  he  was  going,  or  when  he  would  stop !  But,  at  the 
same  time,  he  felt  sure  that  he  had  crossed  the  Ohio  Eiver ; 
and  somebody  had  impressed  the  truth  pretty  strongly  upon  his 
mind  that  when  this  object  was  attained  he  might  calculate 
with  certainty  that  he  was  on  the  right  "  side  of  Jordan  !" 

And  the  heart  of  Katty  leaped  for  joy,  too,  as  she  fled, 
though  she  was  fearfully  worn  down  with  the  extraordinary 
exertion  to  which  she  had  been  subjected  for  the  last  week. 

Was  the  atmosphere  clearer  than  that  she  had  ever  breathed 
before  ?  Was  the  climate  she  was  now  in  so  different  from 
that  to  which,  for  twenty  year's  previously,  she  had  been  ac 
customed  to  ?  Were  the  skies  more  genial,  and  were  the 
breezes  more  balmy  and  invigorating  ?  Or,  was  it  merely  the 


358  THE     KAG-PICKEE. 

consciousness  that  she  was  free,  that  so  exhilarated  her,  and 
caused  her  to  forget  her  bruises,  and  pains,  and  bodily  ills, 
while  she  still  bounded  on,  on,  on !  singing  praises  to  Him 
who  had  borne  her  and  her  associates  thus  safely  through  the 
wilderness — the  desert — the  shadows  of  bondage,  to  the  green 
pastures,  and  the  light  and  the  joy  of  liberty  ! 

Welcome  !  welcome,  then,  ye  poor  despised,  down-trodden 
sufferers — a  thousand  times,  welcome  to  Freedom's  shores  !  It 
may  be  that  your  pursuers,  the  wretched  hounds  that  even 
now  scent  your  tracks,  and  who  are  striding  far  and  fast  to 
seize  upon  you — it  may  be  that  they  will  yet  place  their  fiend 
ish  gripe  upon  you,  and  that  you  will  but  have  tasted  the  air 
which  has  so  charmed  you  ere  they  fall  upon  to  destroy  you. 

Hasten,  then  !  Away,  away  !  Fly,  Nappo,  for  your  life  ! 
Halt  not,  fair  Katty,  until  a  wider  margin  is  left  behind  you. 
For  they  who  seek  to  crush  and  devour  you — life,  and  body, 
and  soul — are  almost  within  reach  of  the  sound  of  your  weary, 
wavering  footsteps  ! 

On,  on  !  Tarry  not — falter  not — slacken  not  a  jot  in  your 
speed,  for  the  enemy  is  abroad,  and  the  chances  may  be 
against  you,  even  while  you  are  thus  confident  in  the  hopes 
that  buoy  you  so  gloriously  up  ! 

Away,  Nappo !  Away,  Katty !  The  route  you  have 
chosen  is  the  right  one.  Away !  and  God  speed  you  on 
your  errand  ! 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

NEWS     FROM    THE     ABSENTEES. 

Alas!  I  have  nor  hope,  nor  health, 

Nor  peace  within,  nor  calm  around, 
Nor  that  content,  surpassing  wealth, 

The  sage  in  meditation  found ! 

SHELLEY. 

A  BUSY  week  had  passed,  and  Beck  had  returned  to  Green 
ville — alone. 

"  No  news  of  them  ?"  asked  Brittan. 

"  Not  a  word,  sir.  They  're  gone,  sure.  No  offense  to  yer, 
Mr.  Brittan,  but  I  allers  reck'n'd  that  that  Mettler  was  a  med 
dler,  as  well.  He  'd  p'izen  a  gang  o'  niggers  'n  less  time  'n  I 
could  count  'em  !  He  'd  a  heap  o'  mighty  fine  words  in  his 
mouth,  an'  he  was  oncommon  smart  at  some  things  ;  but  he 
was  n't  the  man  fer  this  bis'ness,  no  how.  Too  soft — a  heap 
too  soft." 

"  I  am  satisfied  of  that,"  responded  Brittan.  "  It  was  a 
most  unfortunate  circumstance  that  we  ever  saw  him,  to  be 
sure.  There 's  no  doubt  he  helped  Nappo  and  Katty  off." 

"  Not  the  least.     That 's  clear,"  said  Beck. 

"Letter,  massa,"  said  a  negro,  entering  at  this  moment, 
bringing  a  missive  that  had  just  come  down  by  mail.  Beck 
retired,  and  Brittan  hastened  to  break  the  seal.  It  was  from 


360  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

his  late  foreman,  and  covered  another  addressed  to  Brittan,  in 
Julie's  handwriting.  With  a  trembling  and  nervous  hand 
he  held  the  documents  to  the  light,  and  read  as  follows  : — 

"  ANTHONY  BRITTAN  : 

"  When  this  letter  reaches  you,  I  shall  be  far  beyond  the 
reach  of  your  resentment  and  your  frowns,  and  you  will  have 
had  leisure  to  reflect  upon  the  parting  words  I  addressed  to 
you,  at  the  last  interview  I  shall  probably  ever  have  with  you, 
in  this  world. 

"  Though  now  separated  from  you,  I  think,  forever,  I  can 
not  feel  that  I  am  justified  in  leaving  you  without  some  ex 
planation  of  my  conduct  toward  you  and  yours,  lest  you  might 
labor  under  misapprehensions  in  regard  to  me  and  mine. 
This,  then,  is  my  apology — if  any  be  necessary — for  this  com 
munication. 

"  From  the  hour  I  entered  until  I  left  your  employment,  I 
aimed  to  do  my  whole  duty  toward  you,  as  well  as  to  those 
whom  you  placed  within  my  control.  How  well  I  acquitted 
myself  in  the  not  over-pleasant  task  that  fell  to  my  lot,  I  leave 
to  you  to  decide.  I  am  conscious  of  no  remissness,  and  you 
best  know  of  the  results  of  my  efforts  for  your  interests. 

"  Surrounded  as  you  were,  and  still  are,  by  unfortunate  in 
fluences  and  bad  advisers,  you  could  not  succeed,  in  a  pe 
cuniary  view,  and  you  never  will.  I  saw  this,  and  I  attempted 
to  advise  you  against  your  pursuit ;  you  scouted  my  warnings, 
you  deemed  me  selfish  and  unworthy  of  your  confidence,  but 
you  will  find,  sooner  or  later,  who  is  right  and  who  is  in 
error.  Here,  again,  for  the  last  time,  let  me  say  to  you  in  all 
candor  and  earnestness  and  hope  for  your  eventual  weal,  that 


NEWS     FROM     THE     ABSENTEES.  3G1 

you  are  following  a  phantom,  that  will  lead  you  to  ruin,  at 
last,  unless  you  halt  while  you  may,  and  retrace  the  steps  you 
have  so  recklessly  taken  ! 

"  I  served  you  to  the  extent  of  my  best  abilities,  and  my 
efforts,  for  the  time  being,  were  not  unsuccessful  in  your  behalf. 
But  you  did  not  appreciate  me ;  and  when  I  considered  that  I 
had  fully  repaid  your  original  kindness  toward  me  in  offering 
me  employment,  I  felt  that  I  had  the  right  to  leave  it  after  I 
had  sickened  of  the  annoyances  and  the  misery  which  its  sur 
roundings  had  imposed  upon  me. 

"  When  I  quitted  Greenville,  I  did  not  go  alone.  I  had 
long  since  made  myself  acquainted  with  your  heartless  and 
obdurate  disposition,  and  I  knew,  without  asking  to  be  directly 
informed  thereof  from  your  lips,  that  you  would  flout  at  any 
pretensions  which  I  might  venture  to  make  toward  the  hand 
of  Julie  Manning — your  ward.  Yet  I  dared  to  love  her,  sir ! 
And  more  than  this,  she  dared  to  respond  to  that  love,  with 
all  the  fervor  of  her  youthful  but  womanly  heart.  You  knew 
nothing  of  this,  for  she  feared  your  ire.  She  knew  how  you 
had  cast  from,  and  driven  to  distraction,  or  death,  perhaps, 
your  only  child,  in  years  gone  by  !  She  had  learned,  as  I  did, 
how  you  had  discarded  and  disowned  your  daughter,  Annie 
Ellson  !  how  you  had  crushed  her  hopes,  and  her  very  being — 
and  she  avoided  you,  lest  you  should  visit  upon  herself 
similar  injustice,  and  a  like  exhibition  of  your  inexorable  ruth- 
lessness. 

"  Julie  Manning  confided  in  me,  sir.  She  left  your  roof 
with  me,  and  she  alone,  and  she  is  now  my  lawful  wife. 
When  you  read  these  lines  we  shall  be  far  away  toward  my 
early  home — a  home  of  liberty,  sir — where  we  can  dwell  in 

16 


362  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

peace  and  quiet,undcr  wholesome  laws,  and  where  we  shall  unit 
edly  pray  for  your  repentance,  and  your  release  from  the  cruel 
bonds  that  now  confine  you — mentally,  socially,  and  pecuniarily. 

"  You  will  start  at  what  now  follows  here — but  you  may 
rely  upon  its  truthful  accuracy.  I  do  not  ask  forgiveness  at 
your  hands,  for  I  have  never  sinned  against  you,  in  thought 
or  deed.  I  have  but  followed  my  destiny — and  the  events  of 
my  life  I  can  only  marvel  at.  But,  believe  me,  sir,  that  your 
own  blood  runs,  legitimately,  in  the  veins  of  him  who  now  ad 
dresses  you  this  letter ;  that  the  Toney  Mettler  you  have 
known  for  the  last  few  years,  is  the  son  of  Henry  and  Annie 
EUson — the  latter  your  discarded,  ruined  daughter ! 

"  I  go  to  seek  my  parents,  in  the  hope  that  they  still  live, 
and  will  not  disown  me,  as  you  have  disowned  them.  And, 
with  a  final  prayer  and  hope  that  you  may  relent  and  be 
happy  even  yet — I  am  Your  Grandson, 

"  TONEY  ELLSON." 

Brittan  sprang  to  his  feet !  The  letters  fell  from  his  hands. 
His  sight  failed  him — his  brain  grew  dizzy — he  strode  the 
room  in  a  paroxysm  of  rage  ! 

"It  is  false — false  ! — damnably,  stupidly,  villainously  false  !" 
he  exclaimed,  between  his  clinched  teeth.  "  He  's  a  miserable, 
cheating,  lying  Yankee,  and  he  always  was  !  I  always  knew 
he  was ;  I  always  said  he  was — always — always — always  ; 
curse  him  !  Curse  him — curse  her.  Ah  !  what  a  miserable, 
ignorant,  inexcusable  fool  have  I  been,  that  I  did  not,  years 
ago,  take  Taskem's  advice,  and  kick  this  sneaking,  cowardly 
thief  out  of  my  house  !  Why,  and  how,  have  I  thus  been  de 
ceived  and  over-reached  ! 


NEWS     FROM     THE     ABSENTEES.  363 

"  Grandson  /"  lie  exclaimed  again,  "  ha,  ha  !  Why,  what 
a  piece  of  ignorance  and  impudence  combined  is  this  ?  And 
what  has  the  rogue  made  it  all  out  of  ?  So  arrant  a  piece  of 
knavery  I  have  never  seen  as  this  !  So,  he  claims  relationship, 
too — ha,  ha,  ha  !  He  wants  money — money.  He  wants  my 
money ;  a  portion  of  my  estate  !  He  tells  me,  thus  season 
ably,  that  he — he — is — my  relative,  in  order  that  I  shall  re 
member  him — and  her — her — in  my  will,  I  suppose  !  Oh, 
but  I  '11  remember  him !  I  won't  forget  him.  I  won't — I 
won't — forget  this  lying  thief !" 

And  then  he  strode  the  apartment  wildly,  again,  and  beat 
the  carpet  with  his  foot,  and  halted,  and  stood  aghast,  and 
fumed,  and  swore,  and  raved  like  a  caged  tiger. 

"  And  she 's  his  wife  !  Julie  's  married  him,"  he  continued. 
"  '  This  is  the  unkindest  cut  of  all !'  I  could  have  borne  his 
impudent  and  audacious  assumption  of  relationship  to  me,  be 
cause  that  would  n't  have  harmed  me — unless  the  thief  ob 
tained  credit  on  account  of  it.  I  '11  advertise  him  !  I  '11  post 
him  !  He  sha'n't — no,  no  !  She  shall  never  profit  by  this 
infernal  cheat — never  !  I  could  have  borne  all  this,  though, 
had  Julie  remained  true — true  to  me.  Bah !  She 's  a 
woman,  a  girl,  a — a — daughter  !  Why  did  n't  I  know  she 
would  cheat  me,  too  ?  I  did.  I  knew  she  would.  I  always 
knew  she  would,  if  she  got  the  chance.  I  always  said  she 
would  !  And  what  comes  next !  Whither  shall  I  now  turn  ? 
She  has  married  this  clown,  evidently.  My  prospects  with 
Flash  are — are — not  so  good — as  they  were,"  said  Brittan, 
slowly.  "  But  her  letter.  I  had  forgotten  that.  Here  it  is." 

Taking  the  unopened  communication,  and  breaking  the 
seal  with  forced  cnlmness.  he  read  as  follows : 


364  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

"DEAR  MR.  BRITTAN: 

"  At  the  earliest  moment  convenient  to  me  since  I  left 
your  hospitable  dwelling,  I  offer  you  my  respectful  adieux. 

"  I  deem  it  necessary  to  enter  into  no  detail  in  explanation 
of  my  conduct.  It  will  be  sufficient  for  you  to  know  that 
Mr.  Ellson  offered  me  his  hand,  I  accepted  it,  and  he  is  now 
my  lawful  husband.  I  left  Greenville,  where  I  have  never 
been  happy,  and  shall  now  exchange  rny  residence  for  a  home 
in  a  free  laud,  to  which,  when  I  left  my  own  native  country, 
my  father  certainly  supposed  he  was  consigning  me. 

"  You  subsequently  chose  to  leave  New  England,  and  to 
dwell  in  a  portion  of  the  country  to  which  I  could  never  have 
consented  to  accompany  you,  under  any  circumstances  other 
than  those  which  compelled  my  acquiescence  at  the  time. 
You  have  not  been  unkind  to  me,  personally,  and  I  thank  you 
for  all  your  attentions,  your  protection,  and  your  favors. 

"  My  father  informed  me  upon  his  death-bed,  that  he  should 
place  in  your  hands  such  an  amount  of  ready  money  as  should 
be  ample  to  supply  all  my  wants,  during  my  minority ;  and 
I  presume  he  did  not  omit  to  redeem  this  important  promise, 
inasmuch  as  he  died  possessed  of  several  thousand  pounds 
sterling,  in  cash,  and  I  was  his  only  heir.  I  trust  you  have 
been  fully  remunerated,  pecuniarily,  therefore,  and  presume 
that  you  are  satisfied  that  I  have  never,  in  this  respect,  been  a 
burden  to  you. 

"  In  all  candor,  then,  I  leave  Greenville  with  few  regrets. 
Would  to  God  I  had  been  able  to  have  influenced  you  to 
agree  with  me  that  your  business  there  is  as  unjust  as  I  think 
it  has  proved  to  you  unprofitable !  Would  that  you  could 
have  been  induced,  years  since,  to  have  yielded  to  my  earnest 


NEWS     FROM     THE     ABSENTEES.  3G5 

and  repeated  desires  that  you  should  relinquish  that  unholy 
calling  !  Would  that  you  could  have  been  brought  to  believe, 
in  time,  that  you  were  unfitted,  by  birth,  and  education,  and 
your  own  experience,  for  the  office  of  a  slave  proprietor  !  You 
would  not  listen  to  counsel ;  you  scouted  friendly  advice ;  you 
scorned  all  appeals,  and — the  future  is  before  you  ! 

"  I  have  performed  my  duty  toward  you,  in  all  honesty  and 
humility.  I  would  have  helped  to  save  you  from  the  ruin 
which  I  have  long  feared  so  seriously  threatened  you,  but  you 
never  permitted  it.  I  will  pray  for  your  happiness,  and  for 
your  escape  from  your  perils,  and  leave  you  to  the  mercy  of 
that  righteous  Judge  who  deals  with  all  His  creatures  with  -a 
just  and  even  hand. 

"  If  I  have  erred,  forgive  me  !  And  if  we  never  must  meet 
again  in  this  world,  let  us  hope  to  meet  in  a  better  sphere, 
where  we  shall  '  know  no  sorrow  and  feel  no  pain,'  if  we  live 
here  to  the  acceptance  of  our  Father  in  heaven !  Adieu, 
adieu  !  And  believe  me  ever  your  well-wisher, 

"  JULIE  MANNING-  ELLSON." 

The  letter  fell  from  his  hand,  and  he  sat  mutely  gazing  at  it 
as  it  lay  on  the  floor.  It  was  not  strange  that  at  such  a  mo 
ment  his  thoughts  reverted,  almost  mechanically,  to  the  time 
when  his  own  daughter  Annie  left  him  for  the  man  she  loved. 
All  his  deeply  cherished  vengeance  had  come  to  this !  Her 
son,  too  !  He  felt  the  strong  gripe  of  retributive  justice  tight 
ening  round  his  throat.  It  strangled  the  new  fury  which  his 
heart  gave  birth  to.  It  was,  he  felt,  the  beginning  of  the  end. 
The  game  was  up.  His  curses  had  come  home  to  roost. 

Overpowered,   as  bv  an  avalanche,  Anthony  Brittan  sat 


360  THE     RAG-PIC  KER. 

crushed  and  senseless.  A  thousand  thoughts  and  suspicions 
shot  through  his  mind,  but  they  were  so  vague  and  gloomy 
that  he  was  stupefied,  incapable  of  any  one  distinct  idea.  He 
had  been  sitting  thus  motionless  for  some  time,  when  he  be 
came  conscious  that  Taskem  was  in  the  room.  That  worthy 
had  slipped  in  silently,  and  was  staring  at  him  with  mingled 
curiosity  and  alarm. 

"  How  are  yer,  Britt'n  ?"  he  said.  "  How  ar'  yer  ?  an'  what 
the  devil 's  the  matter  ?" 

"  Nora  is  dead,"  said  Brittan,  rousing  himself  with  a  great 
effort,  "  Katty  and  the  boy  have  run  aAvay  ;  I  can't  pay  you 
your  forty-three  hundred  dollars,  Mr.  Taskem.  Nappo  's  gone 
with  'em.  Four  of  the  nine  last  slaves  you  bought  me  have 
died  since  their  arrival  at  Greenville.  My  prospects,  Taskem, 
are  none  of  the  brightest," 

"  But,  what — a — what  d'  yer  mean  about  not  payin'  for 
'em,  Brittan  ?  What 's  their  runnin'  off,  arter  I  delivered  'em 
to  you,  to  do  with  me,  for  God's  sake  ?  Did  n't  I  do  all  I 
'greed  too,  eh  ?  Say  'f  I  did  n't  ?" 

"  I  suppose  you  did,  Taskem.  But  you  can't  very  well  ex 
tract  blood  from  a  stone.  I  have  n't  got  one  hundred  dollars 
in  the  world,  except  what 's  invested  in  my  estate  and  the  live 
stock  here.  You  know  how  that  is  now  situated.  /  can't 
raise  a  dollar  more  upon  it.  If  you  can,  do  so,  I  '11  sign  the 
mortgage  any  day." 

"  This  marriage  yer  spoke  about  with  Flash  and  the  gal  ?" 

"  She  is  gone,  too !"  replied  Brittan,  speaking  with  savage, 
but  cold  emphasis. 

"  Yes — but  she  '11  come  back,  of  course." 

"  Never,  Taskem.     She  is  already  married  " 


NEWS     FROM     THE     ABSENTEES.  367 

"Married  /"  exclaimed  Taskem,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  To 
whom  ?" 

"ToEllson." 

« Who's  he P* 

"Mettler." 

"  Mettler— JEllson  ?     How 's  this  ?"  urged  the  trader. 

"  He  says  his  name  is  Ellson ;  that  the  name  of  Mettler 
was  only  an  assumed  one  for  his  own  purposes,  which  he  will 
not  explain.  He  has  run  away  with  my  ward,  married  her, 
and  they  're  gone  to  Massachusetts  to  live." 

"  Then  you  Ve  seen  him  ?" 

"  No.  Heard  from  him,  by  post,  and  from  her  at  the  same 
time.  There  are  the  letters." 

Taskem  was  in  an  unlucky  fix  at  this  moment.  The  crisis  had 
arrived  earlier  than  he  wished,  and  ruin  stared  him  in  the  face. 

The  bonds  and  mortgages  that  Brittan  had  given  were,  in 
part,  already  due,  and  they  covered  every  particle  of  available 
property  then  in  his  hands.  He  had  confidently  calculated  upon 
obtaining  from  Flash  the  fifteen  thousand  dollars  which  they 
had  talked  of,  because,  in  his  ignorance  and  supposed  authority 
over  the  person  of  Julie,  he  had  never  dreamed  that  he  should 
not  be  able  to  wed  her  (as  he  could  his  slaves)  to  any  one 
that  pleased  his  fancy.  This  hope  was  suddenly  cut  off,  and 
the  very  "  last  link  was  broken"  that  afforded  him  any  prospect 
of  pecuniary  assistance. 

"  Ef  yer  don't  pay  me  that  'ar  money,  Brittan,"  said  Task- 
em,  after  having  perused  the  letters,  "  I  'm  a  ruined  man — 
smashed — broke,  'sure  's  preaehin' !" 

"  I  am  sorry,  Taskem,"  said  Brittan,  "  but  the  thing 's  im 
possible," 


368  THE     RAG-PICKKH. 

Taskem  arose  and  began  to  walk  the  room  rapidly.  He 
was  getting  excited.  This  blow  was  a  terrible  one  for  him. 
His  pecuniary  all  was  involved  in  this  speculation,  and  he  saw 
no  way  to  save  himself! 

Brittan  said  nothing  more,  but  calmly  watched  the  work 
ings  of  the  slave-hunter's  countenance.  It  was  a  study  for 
him,  and  he  loved  it.  He  loved  to  see  others  in  trouble,  oa 
the  common  principle  that  "misery  likes  company."  The 
Englishman  continued  to  gaze  at  his  "  friend's"  face,  as  if  he 
could  read  what  was  going  on  in  the  trader's  mind. 

"  What  the  devil  yer  ever  kep'  that  rascal  yere  fer  's  more  'n 
/  know,"  said  Taskem,  breaking  out  at  length  from  the  midst 
of  his  meditations. 

"  Who  ?"  asked  Brittan,  quietly. 

"  That  Mettler." 

"IZllson,  you  mean,"  continued  Brittan. 

"  I  mean  the  scoundrel  'at  has  run  away  with  the  gal,  an' 
carried  off  the  niggers,  too,  at  the  same  time.  That 's  who  I 
mean." 

Brittan  shook  his  head,  as  if  lie  would  have  said,  "  Don't 
you,  Taskem — don't  bo  severe  on  me  !"  but  he  did  not  reply. 
His  thoughts  were  far  away  from  Greenville. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  singular  freak  of  fate  that  had 
thrown  Toney  upon  his  acquaintance.  He  was  thinking  of 
his  former  experience,  of  New  England,  of  Annie,  of  Henry 
Ellson  whom  he  had  ruined,  of  Nappo's  trial  and  return  to 
slavery,  of  his  subsequent  fortune,  of  Julie,  and  Toney — Toney 
Ellson,  his  grandson  ! 

Verily,  his  career  had  been  a  checkered  one  ! 


CHAPTER   LXII. 

THE   ELLSON'S   AT   HOME. 

Has  HOPE,  like  the  bird  in  the  story, 

That  flitted  from  tree  to  tree, 
With  the  Talisman's  glittering  glory, 

Has  Hope  been  that  bird  to  thee  ? 

THOMAS  MOOEE. 

HENRY  ELLSON  was  sitting  with,  his  wife  iii  their  cozy  little 
room,  at  home,  and  the  "  tea-things"  had  just  been  removed 
from  the  table.  Annie  brought  him  his  pretty  wrought  slip 
pers,  that  she  had  worked  for  him  with  her  own  hands,  and  at 
the  same  time  handed  him  the  morning  paper,  which  he  only 
found  leisure  to  read  after  he  came  home,  at  evening,  from  his 
counting-house  duties. 

Annie  had  long  since  given  up  her  dreary  routine  of  labor 
in  the  employ  of  the  magnanimous  and  "  enterprising"  estab 
lishment  that  paid  such  enormous  wages  to  its  poor  work 
women,  for  Ellson  refused  to  allow  her  to  ply  the  needle  Avhen 
he  was  doing  so  well. 

"  What 's  become  o'  the  pretty  woman  that  used  to  be  here 
so  regularly,  and  who  did  her  work  so  nicely  ?"  asked  the 
head  of  the  house,  who  missed  Annie's  weekly  visits,  at  last. 

"  Which  one,  sir  ?"  asked  the  cashier.  "  We  've  so  many 
pretty  women  about  T  don't  know  which  our*  you  refer  to." 


370  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  She  with  the  neat  little  shawl  and  plain  drab  bonnet, 
who  earned,  some  weeks,  nigh  two  dollars,  I  think." 

"  Oh,  yes  !     I  don't  know  where  she  is,  sir." 

"  She 's  retired,  I  've  no  doubt,"  continued  the  principal, 
"on  her  fort'n.  She  must  have  made  a  good  deal  of  money, 
first  and  last,  and  I  '11  be  bound,  if  she  could  be  found  to-day, 
she  'd  declare  in  your  face  that  clothiers  starved  and  worked 
their  hands  to  death,  and  did  n't  pay  'em  for  their  labor ! 
The  ungrateful  creeturs !" 

Henry  read  all  the  latest  intelligence  to  her,  while  she  drew 
out  the  embroidery  she  was  working,  and  sat  down  at  his 
side. 

First,  there  Avas  the  long,  dull,  heavy  "  leader,"  upon  poli 
tics  and  the  prospects  of  the  country.  Then  came  the  briefer 
articles  upon  the  "  local  news  of  the  day."  And  then  the 
"  accidents"  by  land  and  sea.  And  then  the  summary  of  "  all 
sorts."  And  then  the  "  very  latest"  items.  And  then  crib- 
bings  and  "  extracts  from  our  exchanges."  Suddenly  the  eye 
of  Ellson  fell  upon  a  paragraph  that  startled  him  from  his 
customary  calmness  and  propriety,  exceedingly ! 

"  What 's  this — what 's  this  !"  he  exclaimed.  And  he 
trembled  violently  as  he  hurriedly  read  the  following  : 

"  Many  of  our  citizens  will  remember  the  case  of  the  slave,  Nappo 
Duroc,  who  was  arrested  in  this  city  a  few  years  since,  at  the  resi 
dence  of  our  then  respected  townsman,  Anthony  Brittan,  Esq.,  of 
B street,  at  the  instance  of  his  master  (one  Taskem,  if  we  recol 
lect  rightly),  and  who,  upon  trial,  was  convicted  and  remanded  back 
to  servitude. 

"  By  a  late  Lexington  (Ky.)  paper,  we  learn  that  this  KTappo  had 
been  purchased  by  Mr.  Brittan  (who,  by  the  way,  went  South  a  few 
years  since,  and  embarked  his  handsome  fortune  in  a  fine  plantation, 
it  is  said).  Nappo  was  one  of  Brittan's  favorite  servants,  and,  having 


THE    ELLSON'S    AT    HOME.  .371 

lived  with  him  several  years  at  the  North,  was  found  very  useful  hi 
Brittan's  new  establishment. 

"It  appears  that  a  short  time  ago  he  was  enticed  away  from  his 
master,  in  company  with  a  mulatto  woman  and  child.  A  young  man 
named  Toney  Mettler,  a  distant  relative  of  Brittan,  and  who  had  been 
his  foreman  a  considerable  time  previously,  is  charged  witli  being  ac 
cessory  to  the  slaves'  escape.  A  reward  of  $500  is  offered  for  the  re 
covery  of  the  three  fugitives,  who,  at  last  accounts,  had  not  been 
heard  of  from  the  night  they  were  first  missed. 

"  As  this  is  the  second  time  that  Nappo  has  escaped  from  bondage, 
it  is  doubtful  (if  he  crosses  the  Ohio),  whether  his  'master  ever  again 
recovers  him.  The  advertisements  in  the  Kentucky  journals  are 
signed  by  Anthony  Brittan,  whose  pecuniary  loss  must  thus  be  very 
considerable.  It  is  thought  that  the  fugitives  have  fled  directly  to 
Canada,  this  time,  where  there  exists  no  law  for  their  recovery." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that,  love  ?"  asked  Ellson,  laying 
dowu  the  paper.  "  That  is  your  father,  evidently.  You  re 
member  Nappo,  of  course  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  do  I,"  responded  Annie.  "  Can  it  be  possible 
that  father  is  a  slave-master  ?"  added  the  wife,  with  singular 
emphasis. 

"  So  it  appears  by  this  paragraph,  and  I  have  no  doubt  of 
the  accuracy  of  it.  It  corresponds  well,  you  see.  There  's 
Mr.  Brittan — Anthony  Brittan — not  a  common  name,  at  all, 
you  know — and  Nappo,  his  old  house-servant !  The  happy, 
jolly,  good-natured  negro,  who  ordered  your  carriage,  love, 
the  night  that  we  rode  to  Providence,  on  a  certain  occasion. 
You  remember — eh  ?"  added  Henry,  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  remember  Nappo  very  well,  and  with  grati 
tude,  too.  He  was  a  most  excellent  servant." 

"  It  all  seems  very  clear  to  my  vision,  Annie,"  said  Ellson, 
"  perfectly  so.  Your  father  went  South  after  Nappo  was  car 
ried  off.  He  knew  the  boy's  value,  and  when  he  bought  his 


372  THE      RAG-PICKER. 

slaves  he  evidently  looked  about  for  him.  It  was  an  easy 
thing  for  Mr.  Brittan  to  communicate  with  the  person  who 
took  Nappo  away  from  Massachusetts,  because  your  father 
must  have  known  all  about  the  circumstances  of  the  case  at 
the  time  of  the  arrest,  and  very  likely  had  his  eye  upon  pur 
chasing  Nappo  at  the  very  first  opportunity — when  he  should 
go  aAvay  himself — for  it  is  not  probable  that  he  made  up  his 
mind  thus  to  change  his  place  of  residence  and  his  mode  of 
life  upon  a  moment's  consideration." 

"  I  see — I  see,"  replied  Annie. 

"  And  so,  when  he  reached  his  destination  in  Kentucky,  or 
wherever  he  went,  he  sought  out  this  Taskem — perhaps  he 
had  been  in  communication  with  him  previously — and  ob 
tained  from  him  the  slave  that  he  coveted,  undoubtedly." 

"  Yes ;  that  is  it,  probably." 

"  And  as  to  its  being  possible  (as  you  just  suggested)  for 
your  father  to  have  become  a  slaveholder,  why,  I  really  do  not 
think  such  a  thing  impossible,  by  any  means.  Do  you,  love  ?" 

"  Still,  Henry,  he  is  my  father"  said  the  noble-hearted  An 
nie,  feelingly. 

"  Right,  right,  Annie.  Pardon  me.  You  know  I  never 
mean  to  speak  in  terms  of  disrespect  of  him,  for  that  reason." 

"  But  this  Toney  Mettler?  continued  Annie.  "  What  can 
that  mean  ?" 

"  I  do  not  comprehend  that,"  said  Henry. 

"  A  distant  relative  of  Brittan's,"  continued  Annie. 

"  Yes,  I  observed  that,  too." 

"  It  surely  can  not  be  our  Toney,  Henry  ?"  added  the  wife, 
earnestly,  and  with  more  excitement  than  she  was  accustomed 
to  exhibit  under  ordinary  circumstances. 


THE    ELLSON'S    AT    HOME.  373 

"  Ob,  no !  No,  love,"  said  Ellson,  quickly  perceiving  his 
wife's  agitation.  "  No,  indeed  !  Do  you  think  your  father 
would  have  been  very  likely  to  have  retained  an  Ellson  in  his 
employ  several  years  ?" 

"  No.  But  you  will  notice  that  it  is  Mettler — not  Ellson 
— '  Toney  Mettler,'  the  advertisement  says." 

"  Yes,  I  see.     How  can  that  be  our  Toney,  then  ?" 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know.  "  But,"  continued  Annie,  with 
all  a  mother's  determined  pertinacity,  "  might  not  our  Toney 
have  changed  his  last  name  in  some  Avay  ?  Toney  is  not  a 
common  name,  at  all." 

"  That  might  be — that  may  have  been,"  replied  Henry. 
"  And  he  could  n't  have  been  censured  for  that  act,  assuredly, 
for  his  father  had  brought  shame  upon  the  name,  and — and 
— it  would  not  be  strange." 

"  Well,  I  don't  mean  that,  Henry,  at  all,"  said  Annie,  in 
stantly  rallying  her  husband,  who  thus  voluntarily  went  fur 
ther  back  in  his  own  personal  history  than  she  cared  to  hear. 
"  I  don't  mean  that.  We  don't  know  what  became  of  the 
boy,  and  of  Carrie,  you  see.  And  why  may  not  they  both 
have  changed  their  final  name  to  Mettler,  for  instance  (or  any 
thing  else),  unwittingly,  perhaps,  or  for  some  good  purpose  or 
other  ?  Now  I  want  to  learn  something  more  about  this 
Toney  Mettler.  If  it  should  turn  out  to  be  our  Toney,  and  if 
Carrie  is  alive,  too,  and  we  should  thus  find  them,  would  n't 
it  be  a  happy,  joyful,  glorious  day  for  us,  Henry  ?" 

"  It  would  indeed,  love  !"  responded  the  affectionate  hus 
band.  "  And  I  will  institute  inquiries,  afresh,  at  once,  in  re 
gard  to  this  matter.  We  will  know  all  about  it,  directly,  be 
assured.  And  [  now  feel  as  though  some  ffood  would  come 


374  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

out  of  this,  certainly.  There  is  a  show  of  probability  in  your 
suggestions,  and  to-morrow  I  will  look  into  the  matter  thor 
oughly.  I  certainly  think  it  may  be  that  Toney  Mettler  and 
Toney  Ellson  are  the  same,  on  reflection.  Yet,  how  did  he 
get  away  out  there  ?" 

"  That  remains  to  be  explained,  of  course.  How  have  a 
thousand  far  stranger  things  than  that  occurred  in  our  very 
midst,  here  ?" 

"  True,  true.  You  are  right,  Annie.  You  're  always  right. 
I  will  investigate  it  at  once,"  concluded  Ellson. 

Annie  did  not  cease  to  make  suggestions  to  her  husband, 
having  for  their  object  the  most  feasible  mode  to  communi 
cate  with  or  to  hear  from  Mr.  Toney  "  Mettler  ;"  for  she  could 
not  possibly  get  the  idea  out  of  her  mind  that  this  was  really 
her  own  Toney,  under  an  assumed  surname. 

But  the  advertisement  stated  that  he  had  fled  in  company 
with  the  slaves.  Whither  had  they  gone,  then,  if  this  were 
correct  ?  It  Avas  supposed  they  had  proceeded  to  Canada. 
This  might  be.  Would  he  go  to  Canada,  also  ?  If  he  did, 
at  what  part  of  the  colonies  would  he  be  most  likely  to  halt, 
or  locate  ?  All  was  doubt,  and  uncertainty,  and  perplexity, 
again. 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 


SILVERPOOL. 


Against  the  sky,  in  outlines  clear  and  rude, 
The  cleft  rocks  stand,  while  sunbeams  slant  between  ; 

And  lulling  winds  are  murmuring  through  the  wood 
Which  skirts  the  bright  lake  with  its  fringe  of  green. 

MRS. 


TONEY  resumed  his  own  proper  name,  as  we  have  stated, 
immediately  upon  quitting  Greenville.  He  had  two  objects  in 
this  :  first,  he  deemed  it  more  appropriate  and  right  that  he 
should  take  his  family  name  again,  upon  heing  united  in 
marriage  with  Julie  ;  and  secondly,  he  preferred  to  remove, 
for  the  time  being,  the  chances  of  his  being  identified  with 
Brittan,  or  any  thing  that  concerned  him,  in  consideration  of 
all  the  circumstances  that  attended  upon  his  sudden  leave- 
taking  of  that  gentleman.  More  than  this,  he  now  purposed 
to  seek  out  his  parents  (at  Julie's  repeated  suggestions),  and 
he  believed  that  his  course  in  this  respect  would  aid  him  best, 
ultimately,  in  finding  them. 

Upon  leaving  Kentucky,  the  newly-wedded  pair  proceeded 
directly  to  Vincennes,  where  they  tarried  for  two  weeks,  at 
the  house  of  a  friendly  acquaintance  in  that  town,  whom  Toney 
had  met  before.  Here  they  looked  for  the  arrival  of  other 
acquaintances,  too,  whom  they  had  reason  to  hope  might  bo 


376  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

able  to  join  them  there.  On  the  fourth  day  after  reaching 
this  place,  Toney  and  Julie  had  the  satisfaction  of  welcoming 
Nappo  and  Katty  and  Buff,  and  of  congratulating  them  upon 
their  escape  from  bondage. 

The  family  where  Toney  Avas  visiting,  were  friends  to  the 
oppressed,  and  they  afforded  the  fugitives  every  comfort  within 
their  power  to  administer.  After  crossing  the  Ohio  River, 
Nappo  sought  the  way  to  the  mouth  of  the  Wabash,  and 
following  its  bank  for  a  dozen  miles  north,  he  was  enabled  to 
obtain  conveyance  for  himself  and  his  associates,  thence  to 
Vincennes,  where  he  desired  to  find  one  Edward  Brown,  a 
trader  in  the  town,  Avho  was  well  known  upon  the  river. 

How  he  ever  knew,  or  how  he  had  learned  of  any  Mi1. 
Brown,  there,  is  a  point  we  never  heard  decided.  But,  that 
he  did  find  him  soon  after  reaching  that  place,  was  certainly 
true ;  and,  what  was  better,  he  there  found  "  Massa  Toney," 
and  "Missy  Julee,"  and  they  were  very  glad  to  see  them,  and 
take  them  by  the  hand,  and  assist  them  in  the  furtherance  of 
their  hopes  and  wishes  for  future  permanent  freedom. 

After  arranging  for  the  present  safety  of  the  refugees,  Toney 
took  his  wife  and  proceeded  on  to  join  his  sister  and  old  Davy 

at  the  village  of  E .  They  had  been  looking  for  Toney's 

arrival  for  several  days,  and  Carrie  had  almost  begun  to  fear 
that  his  engagements  would  not  permit  him  to  visit  them  after 
all.  She  was  dissappointed,  bu£  old  Davy  said  "  he  will  soon 
be  with  us,  deary.  Be  patient." 

"  Toney  's  married  by  this  time,"  said  Carrie,  with  a  sort  of 

half-melancholy  expression.     "  I  Ve  no  doubt  he 's  got  a  nice 

'  little  wife,  too,  for  he  spoke  of  his  Julie  in  glowing  terms, 

when  he  was  here.     And  now  she  will  take  up  all  his  time, 


"SILVERPO  OL."  377 

and  absorb  all  his  affections ;  and  lie  '11  have  no  room  left  in 
his  heart  to  love  poor  little  Carrie — will  he,  Davy  ?" 

"  Never  fear !  Never  fear  that,  Carrie.  Toiiey  's  undoubt 
edly  very  happy,  in  his  new  sphere ;  and  as  he  has  been  pru 
dent  and  has  saved  considerable  money  in  late  years,  he  should 
not  have  delayed  his  marriage  longer,  I  think.  It  is  very  well 
as  it  is,  therefore.  He  will  soon  be  along,  and  we  will  induce 
him  to  settle  near  us,  when  he  comes.  There  's  a  nice  little 
spot  by  the  edge  of  the  lake,  above  us,  you  know,  where  we  've 
gone  together  hundreds  of  times,  to  sit  beneath  the  elms  and 
admire  the  glorious  landscape  around." 

"  Oh,  yes — yes !  Delightful.  I  named  it,  you  recollect. 
Did  n't  I  ?  Charming — charming !  Just  the  place  for 
them,  if  they  would  only  think  so.  'Silverpool?  Isn't  it 
pretty  ?" 

"  Very,  and  I  have  no  doubt  the  land  could  be  purchased  at 
a  low  price,  too.  Toney  's  a  good  farmer,  I  think,  and  if  he 
would  agree  with  us,  it  would  be  very  pleasant,  certainly,  to 
have  him  for  a  neighbor,  eh  ?" 

"  Oh  !  how  I  wish  it  may  turn  out  thus,"  exclaimed  Carrie, 
joyfully.  "  He  could  build  a  house  to  suit  his  own  tastes,  up 
on  the  high  ground  that  faces  the  lake,  and  the  great  elms 
could  be  left  in  front,  and  the  beautiful  slope  that  falls  away 
from  the  great  knoll,  quite  down  to  the  water's  edge  (upon 
which  he  would  of  course  set  his  dwelling),  would  form  a  glo 
rious  lawn — would  n't  it,  Davy  ?  And  he  could  have  a  nice 
large  garden  in  front,  toward  the  village,  and — and — oh  !  it 
would  be  so  nice.  Do  you  think  Touey  would  like  this, 
though  ?  And  Julie — would  she  fancy  such  a  spot  ?"  contin 
ued  Carrie,  who  had  thus  built  n  castle  for  her  brother,  and 


378  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

laid  out  his  grounds  for  him,  in  her  imagination,  in  a  single 
moment  of  time. 

"  Well — we  shall  see,  deary,"  replied  the  old  man,  kindly. 
"  Toney  has  been  brought  up  a  farmer,  and  there  is  no  doubt 
he  is  an  accomplished  agriculturist. "  The  land  around  us  is 
easy  of  tillage,  the  spot  we  have  just  spoken  of  is  a  lovely 
place,  and  I  hope  Toney  can  be  induced  to  settle  here,  unless 
he  has  better  prospects." 

"  I  '11  take  him  up  to  the  lake,  as  soon  as  he  comes — he  and 
Julie,"  said  Carrie,  "  and  I  '11  show  them  a  sight  worth  the 
seeing.  There  are  forty  or  fifty  acres  of  land  that  he  can  pur 
chase  there,  if  he  likes  the  location,  and  I  would  so  love  to 
have  them  here ;  would  n't  you,  Davy  ?" 

"Indeed  I  should,  Carrie  ;  and  if  it  be  possible,  they  shall 
certainly  remain  with  us.  And  since  you  are  so  earnest,  and 
I  am  at  leisure,  come  !  let  us  walk  around  through  the  wood- 
piece  above  us,  and  take  a  peep  at  the  place  we  have  selected 
for  Toney  to  settle  upon,  by  and  by  ;  and  for  which  I  am  sure 
he  ought  to  feel  greatly  obliged  to  us,  eh  ?" 

"  O,  yes — yes  !  Let  us  go,"  responded  Carrie,  joyfully. 
"  Let  us  go  up  and  see  it  before  they  come.  I  know  he  '11  like 
it,  I  know  he  will." 

And  singing  merrily  as  she  went,  she  hurried  old  Davy  along 
up  the  steep  bridle-path  that  led  to  the  oak  wood-patch,  and 
thence  on  through  the  rich  deep  pine  grove  that  lay  between 
this  and  the  more  open  lands,  toward  the  lake.  And  finally 
they  halted  beneath  the  shadow  of  a  fine  clump  of  ancient 
elms,  where  they  had  many  a  time  sat  before — and  "  Silver- 
pool"  was  before  and  around  them. 

It  was  truly  an  enchanting  spot.    In  front,  upon  either  side, 


"SILVERP  OOL."  379 

tar  away  to  the  westward,  could  be  seen  a  deep  ravine,  which 
was  flanked  by  hills,  the  slanting  sides  of  which  were  covered 
with  a  heavy  but  rather  short  growth  of  woods,  growing  down 
to  the  very  verge  of  the  chasm  below.  This  vale  seemed  to 
have  been  scooped  out  of  the  earth's  surface,  ages  before,  and 
formed  an  oblong  half-oval  hollow  for  a  long  distance  to  the 
westward — into  which  settled  the  first  gushing  waters  from  a 
myriad  of  living  streams  along  its  sides,  that  eventually  sup 
plied  the  river  toward  and  beyond  the  village  of  E . 

The  shining  little  lake  itself,  which  lay  embosomed  among 
sharper  rising  hills  near  Davy's  lands,  was  a  deep  crystal 
of  water,  so  brilliantly  clear  and  transparent,  so  silent  and 
its  beauty,  that  Carrie  iiad  long  since  named  it  "Silver- 
one  of  her  moments  of  romantic  admiration.  And 
ttily  was  it  thus  named,  and  appropriately,  too. 
3,  to  the  right,  Davy,"  said  Carrie,  again  planning  out 
Toney,  "  here 's  the  spot  for  the  house,  you  see. 
lump  of  elms  will  form  a  delightful  shade,  and  in  front, 
little  trimming  and  clearing,  see  !  what  a  view  he  has 
lake.  Think  of  the  beautiful  lawn  thus  slanting  gently 
down  from  the  door  to  the  very  edge  of  the  water — and  already 
led  to  perfection.  Here 's  the  grove,  on  the  left,  too  ;  that 
must  not  be  touched.  Beyond,  he  has  his  acres  of  opening, 
and  meadow,  and  upland — for  tillage  and  pasturing ;  and  over 
yonder,  see  what  a  glorious  piece  of  wood-land.  Ah  !  Davy — 
could  he  not  be  very  happy  here  if  he  would  ?" 

"  Very — very  !"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "  And  unless  he 
has  entered  into  engagements  that  we  know  nothing  of,  I  feel 
assured  that  he  will  be  delighted  with  this  spot.  We  shall  see. 
Come  !  Let  us  return.  He  should  be  here  at  any  hour  now." 


S80  THE    RAG-PICKER. 

And  the  old  rag-picker  and  his  charge  moved  backward  to 
their  humble  dwelling,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  ledge. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  after  this  conversation, 
the  public  stage  halted  before  the  door  of  Davy's  little  house, 
and  there  alighted  from  it  a  young  lady,  accompanied  by  a 
gentleman  and  a  boy  some  five  or  six  years  of  age. 

"  Here  they  are — here  they  are !  Oh !  Toney — how  glad  I 
am  to  see  you,"  screamed  Carrie,  bounding  out  just  as  the  coach 
started  off.  "  Here  they  be,  Davy !"  and  she  threw  her  arms 
about  Toney's  neck,  and  hugged  him  with  a  sisterly  earnest 
ness,  while  her  brother  warmly  returned  the  affectionate  em 
brace,  and  said  "  This  is  my  wife,  Carrie,"  as  proudly  and  with 
as  much  dignity  as  if  they  had  *been  married  fifteen  years,  in 
stead  of  less  than  as  many  days ! 

"  I  know  her — I  know  her,"  continued  Carrie,  cordially, 
"  come  in — I  knoAv  all  about  her ;  you  told  us.  Come  in, 
Julie — here 's  Davy,  our  Davy — my  good,  kind  Davy.  He 
knows  you,  too,  and  he  knows  us,  and  we  know  him,  and  you, 
and  every  body.  Oh  !  I  'm  so  glad  you  Ve  come,  Toney !  And 
you  won't  go  away  again,  either.  We  Ve  fixed  it  all  just  as 
we  want  to  have  it,  and  you  and  Julie  will  say  yes — and  then 
we  '11  all  be  so  happy — but  who 's  this  ?  Why,  what  a  beau 
tiful  boy.  Where  'd  he  come  from  ?  What 's  his  name  ? 
That 's  right,  Julie.  Take  off  your  things — I  '11  see  to  them. 
And  we  '11  have  such  nice  times  !" 

Thus  the  happy  Carrie  welcomed  her  friends,  chirping  and 
gabbling,  and  asking  a  hundred  questions  without  stopping  for 
an  answer  to  one — until  Toney  and  Julie  had  removed  their 
exterior  traveling  garments,  and  were  comfortably  bestowed  in 
the  little  back  room  of  Davy's  dwelling. 


'"SILVERPOOL."  381 

And  Davy  was  never  happier  in  his  life.  It  always  warmed 
the  good  old  man's  heart  to  see  Carrie  happy,  and  he  thought 
he  never  saw  her  so  merry  before.  Her  associates  were  few, 
and  it  was  very  rare  that  any  one  came  to  visit  the  poor  artisan 
at  his  little  humble  house ;  so  that  such  visitors  as  these  ren 
dered  Carrie  almost  beside  herself  with  joy. 

She  soon  learned  that  the  little  boy  was  the  child  of  a  slave- 
mother,  a  fact  that  greatly  astonished  her  when  she  looked  at 
his  clear  white  skin  and  beautifully  formed  features ;  for  she 
had  always,  in  her  own  mind,  associated  a  slave  with  negroes, 
and  darkness,  and  suffering,  and  ignorance  ! 

But  here  she  beheld  a  bright,  fair-skinned,  comely  child,  who 
was  fresh  from  servitude,  but,  nevertheless,  in  all  the  bloom  of 
health  and  singular  beauty.  This  seeming  paradox  was  sub 
sequently  explained  to  her,  and  she  got  to  think  a  great  deal 
of  Buff  in  the  future. 

A  happy  evening  succeeded  the  arrival  of  the  friends  of 
Carrie  and  Davy,  and  the  morrow  was  fixed  upon  to  visit 
"  Silverpool,"  which  Carrie  informed  Toney  was  the  place 
that  she  and  Davy  had  selected  for  him  and  Julie,  as  their 
future  residence  ;  at  which  announcement  Toney  smiled,  but 
did  not  say  "  nay  !" 


CHAPTER   LXIV. 

ANNIE,     HENRY,     AND     T  O  N  E  Y  . 

Upon  a  tone — 

A  touch  of  hers,  his  blood  would  ebb  and  flow, 
And  his  cheek  change  tempestuously. 

BYRON'S  DEEAM. 

AFTER  due  consultation  between  Ellson  and  his  wife,  it  was 
deemed  expedient,  on  the  following  day,  to  procure  some  of 
the  latest  Kentucky  journals,  in  order  to  learn  such  further 
particulars  as  might  possibly  appear  therein  in  relation  to  the 
matter  in  which  they  had  suddenly  become  so  deeply  in 
terested. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  hours'  search  among  the  files  at  the 
reading-rooms,  Ellson  had  possessed  himself  of  several  addi 
tional  items  bearing  upon  this  affair,  and  had  also  secured  a 
paper  containing  the  original  advertisement  offering  a  reward 
for  the  recovery  of  Brittan's  lost  slaves.  He  again  communi 
cated  with  his  wife,  and  the  result  of  their  deliberations  was 
the  adopting  of  Annie's  final  advice  to  forward  to  the  Louis 
ville  and  Lexington  papers  an  advertisement  like  the  follow 
ing : 

"NOTICE. — If  Mr.  Tonoy  Mcttler,  lately  in  the  employ  of  Anthony 
Brittan,  Esq.,  at  Greenville,  Ky.,  shall  meet  with  this  card,  and  will 
forward  his  address  to  Henry  Ellson,  at  Boston,  Mass.,  he  may  hear  of 
something  to  his  advantage." 


ANNIE,    HENRY,    AND     T  O  N  E  Y .  383 

Within  five  days  after  this  notice  appeared,  Toney  chanced 

to  be  over  at  the  village  of  E ,  where,  it  will  be  recollected 

he  had  had  business  before,  and  a  friend  who  formerly  lived  in 
Kentucky,  and  whom  he  went  there  to  see,  handed  him  the 
paper  containing  the  above  advertisement. 

Toney  started  with  surprise  and  secret  joy,  for  the  name  of 
his  father  appeared  in  the  card — Henry  Ellson  !  He  lost  no 
time  in  communicating  this  intelligence  to  Carrie  and  Davy, 
and  it  was  forthwith  determined  that  Touey  .should  proceed 
directly  to  Boston,  and,  in  person,  respond  to  this  notice  ;  for 
there  existed  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of  either  of  the  trio  that 
Toney's  supposition  was  correct.  And,  leaving  his  wife  and 
the  boy  Buff  in  charge  of  Davy  and  his  sister,  he  hurried 
away  to  New  England  to  satisfy  himself  in  regard  to  this,  to 
him,  important  and  interesting  matter. 

In  the  mean  time  Toney  had  visited  Silverpool.  He  was 
delighted  with  the  scenery  and  the  character  of  the  lands 

around  the  village  of  E ,  and  he  fully  determined,  unless 

something  occurred  to  interfere  with  this  resolve,  to  purchase 
"  Silverpool"  and  its  adjacent  borders,  and  settle  there  per 
manently.  With  this  view  he  instructed  old  Davy  to  inquire 
about  the  premises  and  the  title  in  case  he  might  wish  to 
buy.  When  he  departed  for  the  East,  he  assured  Carrie  that 
he  had  no  doubt  he  should  return  and  settle  there  eventually, 
very  much  to  his  sister's  joy  and  satisfaction. 

Six  weeks  had  nearly  elapsed  since  Ellson  forwarded  to 
Kentucky  his  "  card,"  and  for  the  tenth  time,  at  least,  he  had 
been  to  the  post-office,  anxiously  hoping  to  receive  some  reply 
to  it.  But  he  returned  home  again  at  evening,  as  usual,  with 
out  any  intelligence  from  his  advertisement. 


384  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  this,"  said  Mrs.  Ellson,  uneasily.  "  I 
supposed  that  this  would  be  brought  to  the  person's  notice,  in 
some  way,  certainly,  be  he  whom  he  may ;  and  I  think,  out 
of  mere  courtesy,  he  could  not  do  less  than  reply  to  it." 

"Bless  you,  Annie,  you  are  too  anxious,"  said  Ellson. 
"  There  may  not  have  been  sufficient  publicity  given  to  the 
card.  It  may  be  that  he  does  not  see  the  papers  at  all ;  or,  he 
may  be  in  Canada,  or  New  Orleans,  or  in  England,  for  that 
matter.  Who  knows  ?  Let  us  be  patient." 

"  I  am  patient,  I  think,  Henry,"  said  the  wife,  with  a  sigh. 

"  So  you  are,  usually." 

A  knock  was  heard  at  the  front  door  a  moment  after 
ward. 

"  Does  Mr.  Ellson  live  here  ?"  asked  a  gentlemanly-looking 
stranger,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  opened. 

"  Yes,"  said  Henry.     "  Walk  in." 

And  the  guest  was  shown  at  once  into  the  sitting-room, 
where  Annie  sat  with  her  embroidery. 

She  started  up,  looked  strangely  into  the  visitor's  face,  and 
exclaimed,  instantly — 

"  Toney  !  Toney !"  And  springing  toward  him,  would  have 
fallen  at  his  feet,  had  he  not  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"My  mother!  my  father!  Thank  God — thank  God  for 
this  joyful  hour !" 

There  was  a  sympathy  of  hearts,  an  indescribable  something, 
that  told  both  the  mother  and  the  son  that  Providence  had 
brought  them  together  again. 

Henry  Ellson  clung  to  his  son's  hand,  while  Toney  sup 
ported  for  a  moment  the  almost  fainting  form  of  his  excited 
mother,  and  suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  Meeker  and  his 


ANNIE,    HENRV,    AND     TO  NET.  385 

wife  (who  occupied  the  opposite  half  of.  the  house)  hurried 
into  the  apartment  without  notice. 

"  Pray  what 's  the  matter  ?  What  has  happened  ?"  ex 
claimed  both  the  friends  together.  "  What  a  dreadful  shriek!" 
said  Mrs.  Meeker.  "  I  thought  you  were  hurt,"  added  Mr.  M. 
"  What  is  it  all «" 

"  My  son — my  son  !"  replied  Annie,  wildly.  "  My  son, 
Toney — Toney,  my  son !"  was  all  she  could  say.  And  the 
ever  attentive  friends  of  the  Ellsons  quickly  saw  what  the  dis 
turbance  was  about. 

And  then  followed  such  a  shaking  of  hands,  and  such 
gratulations,  and  so  many  joyful  tears  again,  and  so  many 
questions  without  any  answers,  and  so  much  of  hope,  and 
pleasure,  and  surprise,  and  anguish,  mixed  together,  that  it 
was  a  long  time  before  any  particular  person  in  the  room  could 
be  understood  distinctly  at  all — each  one  in  the  excited  group 
seeming  most  desirous  to  inform  every  body  else  how  happy 
he  or  she  was  at  that  precise  moment ! 

After  the  storm  conies  the  calm.  And  half  an  hour  later  a 
more  satisfactory  explanation  had  been  given,  and  was  listened 
to  by  the  little  party,  while  Toney  entered  into  a  detailed  ac 
count  of  his  tortuous  career,  as  far  back  as  when  he  so  sud 
denly  left  the  care  of  Mr.  Meeker,  and  was  enticed  from  so 
comfortable  a  home. 

As  soon  as  he  alluded  to  Carrie,  however,  there  was  a  fresh 
burst  from  the  lips  of  Annie. 

"  Oh  !  my  darling  Carrie  !"  she  shouted.  "  Where  is  she  ? 
Is  she  alive  ?  and  well  ?  And  is  she  married  ?  Say  wo,  Toney ! 
How  has  she  been  used  ?  Has  she  grown  up  ?  Does  she 
look  like  father  ?  Does  she  remember  mother  ?  Will  she 

17 


386  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

come  to  us  ?  Why  did  n't  she  come  now  ?  Is  she  in  town  ? 
Or  far  away  ?  Tell  me — tell  us,  Toney !  Tell  us  all  about, 
dear  little  black-eyed,  singing,  merry  Came !" 

As  soon  as  Toney  could  possibly  "  get  a  word  in  edgewise," 
(as  he  suggested)  he  informed  his  parents  all  they  desired  to 
know,  by  no  means  forgetting  to  speak  of  old  Davy,  in  deserv 
ing  and  most  cordial  terms,  for  his  care  of  the  little  wanderer, 
whose  steps  he  had  so  long  guided,  and  whose  weal  he  had 
guarded  with  all  a  father's  solicitude  and  zeal. 

At  a  late  hour  the  happy  family  knelt  at  the  family  altar, 
and  thanked  the  Father  of  all  mercies  that  he  had  thus  guided 
the  steps  of  the  absent  loved  ones,  and  had  now  brought  about 
this  long-sought  and  long-prayed-for  reunion,  so  joyful  in  its 
present  results. 


CHAPTER    LXV. 

SPECULATIONS     AND     PROMISES. 

No  pastoral  scene  procures  me  peace — 

I  hold  no  leasows  in  rny  lease, 

No  cot  set  round  with  trees ! 
No  sheep-white  hill  my  dwelling  flanks — 

And  omnium  furnishes  my  banks 

With  brokers — not  with  bees ! 

THOMAS  HOOD. 

AFTER  a  brief  sojourn  with  his  parents,  Toney  prepared  to 
retrace  his  steps,  and  to  bear  to  Carrie  and  good  old  Davy 
the  joyful  intelligence  he  had  obtained  during  his  visit  to 
Boston. 

It  was  arranged,  before  he  left,  that  Davy  should  accompany 
Carrie  to  New  England,  at  once,  upon  Toney's  arrival  at  the 

village  of  E again — the  father  and  mother  insisting  that 

she  should  forthwith  make  her  home  with  them,  in  Boston. 

"  They  Avill  fly  to  meet  you,"  said  Toney,  "  and  our  Davy, 
as  well  as  Carrie,  will  be  overjoyed  to  greet  and  embrace  you. 
But  I  doubt  if  Davy  will  consent  to  parting  with  his  '  little 
jewel'  (as  he  calls  her)  after  so  long  and  happy  a  companion 
ship.  We  may  have  something  better  to  propose  to  you,  by 
and  by.  The  region  where  he  is  now  located,  and  whither  I 
propose  to  repair,  upon  leaving  you,  is  an  excellent  business 
neighborhood,  T  learn.  And  in  the  village  beyond  Davy's 


388  I'HEKAG- PICKER. 

residence  there  are  now  several  manufacturing  establishments, 
mills,  and  the  like,  where  remunerative  employment  could 
readily  be  had.  Carrie's  associations  are  all  there,  the  labor 
of  Davy's  hands  finds  its  sale  there,  and  even  you,  father, 
might  join  us  and  find  it  to  your  pecuniary  advantage,  in 
preference  to  remaining  in  this  vicinity.  We  will  see.  Car 
rie  and  Davy  will  visit  you  immediately  upon  my  return,  and 
you  can  talk  with  them  in  regard  to  this  matter.  My  own 
education  has  been  such  that  I  must  pursue  the  calling  of 
the  agriculturist,  to  which  the  best  part  of  my  life  has  now 
been  continually  devoted ;  and  a  rare  opportunity  presents 
itself  (in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Davy's  pleasant  home) 
where  I  can  carry  out  my  long-considered  plans  for  life  in  a 
desirable  manner,  and  amid  such  facilities  as  fully  correspond 
with  my  tastes  and  ambition." 

Toney  left  his  happy  parents,  at  last,  and  returned  once 
more  to  Carrie,  and  Julie,  and  Davy. 

"  Did  you  find  them  ?  Are  they  living  ?  Was  it  our 
father  ?  Did  you  meet  with  mother  ?  Are  they  well  ?  Tell 
us — oh !  tell  us,  Toney,  all  about  it !"  cried  his  sister,  before 
he  had  scarcely  entered  Davy's  house,  upon  his  return  to 
them. 

"  Oh !  what  a  girl !"  replied  Toney,  laughing  at  Carrie's 
impetuosity  and  earnestness.  "  How  can  I  answer  your  ques 
tions  when  you  give  me  no  chance  to  be  heard  ?" 

"  I  know  you  did !  I  'm  sure  you  found  him.  I  'm  cer 
tain  it  is  father — and  mother,  too  !  I  know  it.  You  'd  say 
'  no,  no,  no,'  right  away,  if  it  were  n't  so.  And  you  would  n't 
have  come  back  so  soon,  and  you  would  n't  look  so  smiling, 
and  joyful,  and  happy  !  I  know  it !  Come,  now,  Toney — 


SPECULATIONS     AND     PROMISES.  389 

quick  !  quick  !  Tell  us  all  about  it.  No  matter  about  kiss 
ing  Julie  so  many  times ;  tell  us  about  father,  and  our 
dear,  dear  mother !  and — and — all  about  it ;  won't  you  ? 
Coine !" 

"  Why,  you  won't  give  me  the  opportunity  to  speak  a 
word.  My  conscience,  what  a  talker  you  've  got  to  be,  Car 
rie  !"  said  Toney,  provokingly.  "  And  what  a  capital  speech- 
maker  you  would  be  in  a  '  woman's-rights  convention,'  to  be 
sure  !" 

"  Now  tell  us,  Toney,  all  about  your  visit." 

"  Well,  then,  you  are  correct — " 

"  I  thought  so  !  I  told  them  all  so  !  Did  n't  I,  Davy,  and 
Julie?  Did  n't  I  say  so  2" 

"  I  found  our  parents  on  the  very  evening  that  I  arrived  in 
Boston.  I  did  n't  stop  to  address  any  reply  to  the  advertise 
ment,  but  instantly  obtained  a  city  directory,  in  which  I 

found  the  name  of  '  Henry  Ellson,  book-keeper,  14  D 

street.'  I  repaired  without  delay  to  No.  14  D street, 

and  as  soon  as  the  door  was  opened,  fairly,  I  fell  into  their 
arms !" 

"  How  did  you  know  them,  pray  ?" 

"  I  did  n't  for  the  moment,  but  they  knew  me,  it  appeared  ! 
That  is,  mother  suspected,  or  guessed,  or  felt  that  I  was  her 
boy  ;  for  she  sprang  to  her  feet  as  I  entered  their  pretty  par 
lor,  and  shouted :  '  Toney,  Toney  !'  We  had  a  happy  meet 
ing,  as  you  may  well  conceive ;  and  all  we  needed  to  mako 
the  joyful  union  perfect,  was  the  presence  there,  at  that  mo 
ment,  of  you,  dear  Carrie,  and  Davy,  and  Julie !" 

Toney  then  entered  into  a  detailed  rehearsal  of  the  agree 
able  trip  he  had  just  finished  so  successfully,  and  the  hearts  of 


390  THE      RAG-PICKER. 

Carrie,  and  Davy,  and  Julie,  were  greatly  elated  with  the 
happy  intelligence  thus  conveyed  to  them. 

A  few  days  passed  by  after  Toney's  return,  when  he  heard 
from  the  friends  in  whose  care  he  had  left  Nappo  and  Katty, 
at  Vincennes. 

Soon  after  Toney  and  Julie  departed  from  that  place,  it 
was  deemed  expedient  by  those  who  felt  interested  in  the  fu 
ture  permanent  welfare  of  the  fugitives,  to  advise  them  to  pro 
ceed  to  Canada,  where  they  would  be  positively  safe  from 
further  molestation.  Where  they  then  tarried  the  law  of  the 
land  sanctioned  their  recapture  ;  and  they  were  liable  to  be 
seen  or  heard  of,  at  any  moment,  in  that  vicinity,  and  it  would 
be  an  easy  thing  to  identify  and  force  them  back  to  bondage, 
should  they  be  discovered  in  Indiana. 

They  were  therefore  made  comfortable  for  the  time  being, 
and  Toney  was  gratified,  soon  after,  to  learn  that  they  had 
lately  departed  for  the  British  Colonies,  where  they  purposed 
to  pass  the  remainder  of  their  lives,  amid  the  freedom  that 
was  denied  them  in  their  native  land. 

Nappo  had  not  forgotten  to  leave  with  his  temporary 
friends  his  hearty  and  grateful  expressions  of  thankfulness 
toward  "  Massa  Toney"  and  "  Missy  Julie,"  to  whom  he  was 
informed  Mr.  Brown  intended  to  write.  And  Katty,  too,  was 
quite  as  earnest  in  her  recollections  of  the  favors  she  had  re 
ceived  at  the  hands  of  those  who  had  been  always  so  kind 
to  her.  She  bequeathed  to  Toney  and  Julie  the  care  of  the 
boy  Buff,  and  finally  left  Vincennes  for  Toronto,  where  they 
found  a  permanent  home  amid  the  enjoyments  of  the  liberty 
they  coveted. 

During  Toney's  absence  at  the  East,  old  Davy  had  moved 


SPECULATIONS     AND     PROMISES.  391 

in  the  matter  of  the  contemplated  land  purchase,  and  had 
taken  the  refusal  of  about  forty  acres  of  the  best  portion  of 
the  fine  estate  above  his  own  premises,  at  a  very 
figure. 

Toney  re-examined  the  place,  and  after  choosing  an  c. 
tional  "  wood-lot,"  of  some  twelve  acres  in  extent,  he  closea 
the  bargain,  and  became  the  possessor  of  over  fifty  acres  of 
the  choicest  farming  land  in  the  county,  for  a  comparatively 
inconsiderable  sum  of  money. 

Mechanics  were  at  once  engaged,  and  a  substantial  farm 
house  and  out-buildings  were  commenced  upon,  forthwith. 
Toney  had  been  frugal  and  successful  while  in  Brittan's  em 
ployment,  and  had  saved  sufficient  means  to  pay  for  his  lands, 
build  his  house,  and  to  stock  his  farm  to  his  liking.  And 
while  this  work  was  going  forward,  Davy  and  Carrie  got 
in  readiness  to  leave  home  for  a  short  time,  for  the  purpose 
of  visiting  her  parents  in  Boston,  who  awaited  their  coming 
with  impatient  but  happy  anticipations. 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 

A     COLLISION. 

"  EF  yer  don't  pay  me  that  ar  money,  Brittan,  I  'm  ruined, 
smaslied,  broke — sure  as  preachin'." 

"  What  can  I  do,  Taskem  ?"  exclaimed  Brittan,  morosely, 
worn  out  with  the  importunity  of  his  former  "  friend." 

"  Do  ?  Wot  the  devil  can  /  tell  w'ot  yer  '11  do  ?  Pay  me 
my  forty-three  hundred  dollars,  that 's  all  I  want.  I  '11  say 
nuth'n  'bout  int'rest.  Gi'  me  the  princerpal,  an'  I  '11  let  yer 
off.  Ef  yer  don't,  I  'm  smashed  ;  that 's  all,  Britt'n  ;  an'  I 
can't  go  back  !  I  have  n't  a  livin'  chance  among  my  credi 
tors  ef  I  don't  carry  back  money  w'en  I  go  down  ag'in." 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  you,  Taskem." 

"  Sorry  !     But  that  won't  pay  my  bill !" 

"  No,"  said  Brittan,  "  nor  mine  either." 

"  Well,  there 's  no  talkiii'  it  off — I  must  hev  it." 

"  You  can't  very  well  have  from  me  what  I  have  n't  got, 
then — that 's  certain." 

"  You  must  git  it — git  it.  I  tell  yer,  it 's  life  or  death  with 
me,  this  time,  an'  it  must  come,  Britt'n  !" 

"  It  is  utterly  useless  for  you  to  rave,  or  make  a  disturb 
ance  about  your  claim,  Taskem,  for  you  know  as  well  as  I 


A     COLLISION.  393 

myself  do,  that  at  present  the  liquidation  of  your  debt  is  out 
of  the  question." 

"  But  I  tell  yer — "  commenced  Taskem,  fiercely — 

"  Stop  !  Hear  what  /  have  to  say,"  said  Brittan,  springing 
to  his  feet,  and  showing  the  slave-hunter  that  he  had  teeth, 
too.  "  Stop  and  listen  !  I  came  here  a  few  years  ago  under 
your  advice  and  at  your  suggestion.  I  brought  fifty  thousand 
dollars  with  me,  in  ready  funds.  You  have  had  the  handling 
of  that  capital.  I  have  bought  from  you  at  your  own  prices, 
and  paid  you  at  your  own  time.  I  am  now  a  beggar.  My 
fortune  is  absorbed.  Every  dollar  I  have  is  sunk — my  estate 
irredeemably  mortgaged.  Many  of  your  slaves  are  dead — 
the  best  have  run  away.  Bankrupt,  baffled,  and  furious,  I 
warn  you,  Taskem,  to  beware  how  you  bully  a  desperate  man  !" 

The  Englishman  stopped  for  a  moment  to  collect  himself, 
and  then  continued,  wildly,  but  more  seriously : 

"  I  am  ruined,  Taskem  !  Ruined  !  I  tell  you  this — it  is 
God's  truth  !  Within  a  month  I  shall  not  have  where  to  lay 
my  head  !" 

There  was  a  vehemence  and  a  deliriousness  in  the  delivery 
of  these  words  that  Taskeni  had  never  seen  before  in  Brittan's 
manner.  But  this  did  not  pay  his  bill.  Bankruptcy  stared 
him  in  the  face,  also.  There  was  no  way  to  avoid  it.  The 
slaves  were  gone,  too,  and  thus  he  was  cut  off  from  taking 
possession  of  them,  as  he  would  otherwise  have  done.  Task- 
em  was  not  the  man  to  bear  a  misfortune  with  fortitude,  nor 
was  Brittan  disposed  to  submit  to  insolence.  An  angry  alter 
cation  ensued.  High  words  passed  between  the  precious  pair, 
and  there  was  every  prospect  of  a  collision. 

"  You  upbraid  me  1"  shouted  Brittan,  savagely.  "  You  of 
17* 


394  THE     RAG-PrCKEK. 

all  men  on  God's  earth  !  You  who  have  swindled,  cheated, 
and  hood-winked  me  with  your  black  imps  and  cursed  serv 
ice  !  Why,  you  pettifogging  varlet,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
you  I  should  have  remained  where  I  was,  in  Boston.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  you  I  should  still  have  had  my  ward  and 
her  fortune  under  my  control.  If  it  had  not  been  for  you  I 
should  have  escaped  nursing  that  viper,  Ellson,  under  my 
roof.  If  it  had  not  been  for  you  I  should  have  been  rich, 
rich — not  a  beggar,  as  I  am  !" 

Taskem  did  not  reply  to  this  outburst,  but  turned  on  his 
heel  with  an  insolent  taunt  that  he  would  take  the  law  on  the 
"  darned  old  cuss."  Brittan  caught  the  last  words,  only,  but 
they  were  sufficient.  With  a  bound  like  a  tiger,  he  caught 
the  slave-dealer  by  the  throat.  It  wras  in  vain  that  he  strug 
gled.  Brittan's  gripe  was  like  that  of  a  blacksmith's  vice. 
Taskem  kicked,  and  fought,  and  felt  in  his  pocket  for  a 
•weapon,  and  shouted  for  help,  without  in  the  slightest  degree 
relaxing  the  mastiff-like  hold  of  the  Englishman.  A  few  mo 
ments  longer  and  Taskem's  career  would  have  been  at  an  end. 
The  blood  gushed  from  his  nostrils,  and  he  could  feel  his 
eyes  protruding  on  his  cheek-bones.  Fortunately,  Beck  and 
some  of  the  servants  heard  his  shrieks,  and  rushed  into  the 
apartment  just  in  time  to  avert  a  catastrophe.  It  was  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  that  the  combatants  could  be  separated. 

"  I  '11  fix  yer  for  this,  Britt'n.  I  '11  hev  yer  heart's  blood, 
by  the  eternal  God  !" 

Brittan,  with  his  face  flushed  with  fury  and  exertion,  his 
eyes  glaring,  and  every  fiber  quivering  with  passion,  attempted 
once  more  to  get  at  Taskem.  But  Beck  and  some  negro  boys 
succeeded  in  hustling  that  worthy  out  of  the  room. 


A     COLLISION.  395 

"  Kick  him  out !  kick  him  out !"  shouted  Brittan.  "  I  '11 
shoot  the  first  man  that  refuses,  s'  help  me  G — ." 

Taskem  did  not  wait  for  any  further  violence,  but,  with 
Beck  as  a  companion,  made  his  way  to  a  hut,  where  he 
washed  the  blood  from  his  face,  swearing  fearfully  all  the 
while.  But  he  was  too  shrewd  a  man  to  be  led  away  by  any 
unprofitable  scheme  of  revenge.  He  was  determined  to  get 
what  he  could  in  money,  first,  and  then  square  the  balance 
with  Brittan.  As  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  he  took  passage  at 
once  in  the  Louisville  steamer.  Taskem  knew  a  lawyer  in 
Louisville  who  had  helped  him  out  of  worse  scrapes  than  this, 
and  from  whom  he  hoped  to  get  not  only  advice,  but  pecuni 
ary  assistance.  To  this  estimable  member  of  the  legal  pro 
fession  he  repaired  without  a  moment's  delay. 

Beck  returned  to  the  house  just  in  time  to  meet  a  boy  gal 
loping  at  hot  speed  for  a  doctor.  Brittan's  late  excitement 
had  terminated  in  a  fit.  He  Avas  now  writhing  in  uncon 
scious  agony,  biting  and  striking  every  thing  that  came  within 
his  reach. 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 

FATHER    AND     DAUGHTER. 

Hark!    Hark!    They 're  come  I    Tboso  merry  bolls 
That  peal  their  joyous  welcome  swells ; 
And  many  hearts  are  swelling  high 
With  more  than  joy— with  ecstasy ! 

MES.  BOUTHET. 

HENRY  ELLSON  was  sitting  alone  in  the  counting-room  of 
his  employers.  His  associates  were  absent  at  dinner,  and  it 
had  got  to  be  late  in  the  day.  He  was  fatigued  and  dispirited, 
somewhat,  when  he  was  suddenly  aroused  from  the  reverie 
into  which  he  had  fallen  by  the  approach  of  footsteps. 

He  arose  and  stepped  out  into  the  main  room,  totally  un 
prepared  for  the  reception  of  females,  there,  but  advancing,  he 
encountered  an  aged  well-dressed  man,  who  preceded  the 
figure  of  a  beautiful  girl,  of  eighteen  or  twenty  years  old, 
apparently. 

Before  a  word  could  be  spoken,  and  to  the  utter  consterna 
tion  of  both  the  old  man  and  the  young  lady — who  was  es 
pecially  startled  at  his  manner — Henry  Ellson  sprung  wildly 
forward,  and  screaming  "  Carrie !  Car — ,"  fell  fainting  at  his 
daughter's  feet. 

Now  this  part  of  the  performance  did  not  seem  to  have 
been  set  forth  in  the  original  programme,  nt  nil !  Both  Davy 


FATHER     AND     DAUGHTER.  397 

and  Carrie  had  supposed,  after  reaching  Boston,  and  learning 
of  Ellson's  business  location,  that  when  the  former  had  had 
the  opportunity  to  present  the  young  lady  to  her  parent,  a 
reasonable  course  of  questioning  would  be  requisite  to  satisfy 
both  parties  that  they  were  not  only  sincere,  but  that  they 
desired  to  make  no  mistake  as  to  the  facts  in  the  case. 

But  the  very  instant  that  Ellson  cast  his  eyes  fairly  upon 
the  girl's  face,  he  saw  the  type  of  his  wife  before  him — her 
very  second  self — the  original  Annie  of  his  own  early  years — 
his  loved  and  lovely  consort !  And  he  knew  it  was  his  daugh 
ter,  his  long-absent  child,  at  the  first  glance  at  her  striking  and 
beautiful,  and,  to  him,  never-to-be-forgotten  features.  The  hot 
blood  mounted  to  his  temples,  he  saw  that  face  but  for  an 
instant,  the  old  bright  days  of  happiness,  and  joy,  and  youth 
came  back  upon  him,  and  it  was  too  much  for  a  single  mo 
ment.  He  swooned,  and  fell  to  the  floor  ! 

"  That 's  enough — enough !"  cried  old  Davy,  in  his  excite 
ment.  "  It  is  your  father,  Carrie — my  life  on  it !"  he  contin 
ued,  raising  Ellson  in  his  arms,  and  bearing  him  back  into  his 
counting-room,  where  he  quickly  recovered,  though  he  con 
tinued  frenzied,  almost,  for  an  hour  afterward,  with  his  excited 
and  joyful  sensations. 

"  My  daughter  !  •  my  child !  my  darling  Carrie  !"  he  cried, 
amid  his  tears  and  his  joy.     "  Ah  !  how  she  favors  her  beauti-- 
ful  mother.     Kiss  me — kiss  me  again,  my  baby,"  insisted 
Ellson,  affectionately,  as  he  pressed  the  astonished  maiden 
again  and  again  to  his  heart,  in  his  frantic  happiness. 

"Ah,  Davy,"  he  continued,  "you  are  not  a  father — you 
never  lost  and  regained  a  child.  Give  me  your  hand.  We 
owe  you  much — every  thing,  sir.  Toney  told  us  nil  about 


398  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

your  kindness,  and  we  can  never  forget  it.  And  you,  my 
lovely  daughter,  you  will  pardon  rne,  you  will  love  me,  you 
will  be  my  daughter,  my  child,  as  you  are  !  Ay  !  there  is  no 
doubt,  no  question  of  that,  mark  me  !  My  Annie's  eyes  are 
here,  sweet  Carrie,"  he  continued,  as  he  placed  his  hand  affec 
tionately  upon  her  fair  brow,  and  peered  into  her  face,  "  there 
are  her  lips,  and  there  the  same  shining  ringlets  that,  at  your 
age,  graced  her  fair  shoulders !  'T  is  Annie's  second  self. 
She  's  mine — mine,  Davy,  my  daughter  !  Thank  God  with 
me,  that  Carrie  is  safely  returned  to  us !" 

Carrie  had  not  been  able,  as  yet,  to  utter  a'  syllable  that 
could  be  understood  amid  the  confusion,  Ellson  having  com 
pletely  monopolized  every  instant  during  the  interview,  thus 
far,  with  his  excited  ejaculations,  and  the  outpourings  of  his 
enthusiastic  endearments.  But  he  became  calmer,  at  last,  his 
associate  clerks  returned  from  dinner,  and  the  happy  trio  took 
a  carriage  for  Ellson's  residence. 

Another  excited  scene  succeeded,  when  the  fond  mother 
clasped  her  daughter  to  her  bosom,  and  wept  over  her  re 
turned  and  dearly-loved  child.  Annie  was  too  happy !  Her 
joy  was  past  expression. 

All  was  sunshine  now !  The  parents  did  not  omit,  again 
and  again,  to  thank  the  once  humble  rag-.picker  for  all  his  at 
tentions  and  care  of  their  little  one,  who  had  else  been  driven, 
perhaps,  to  starvation  or  premature  ruin ! 

And  the  old  man  smiled  again,  and  blessed  the  "  little  dar 
ling"  who  had  been  to  him  the  source  of  so  much  comfort  in 
the  long  and  dreary  years  of  their  strange  companionship  ! 

"  But  you  must  n't  keep  us  here  too  long,"  said  Davy,  at 
length.  "  I  Ve  brought  her  to  you  to  fulfill  the  promise  that 


FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER,.  399 

Toney  made  you,  and  because  it  was  my  duty  to  you,  under 
the  fortunate  circumstances.  But  my  business  will  call  me 
home  again,  soon,  and  we  must  get  through  our  visit  as  rap 
idly  as  is  consistent  and  convenient." 

"  Back  again !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ellson.  "  Why  you  must 
not  take  Carrie  away  from  us  again,  surely !" 

"  Take  her  away  !"  murmured  the  old  man.  "  Why,  you 
don't  want  to  take  her  away  from  me — do  you  ?  My  Carrie, 
my  child,  my  pet,  my  heart,  my  life — do  you  ?" 

""  We  want  her  to  remain  with  us,  Davy,  at  all  events," 
said  Annie  ;  "  and  you  shall  stay  too,  if  you  will." 

"  I  can't.  I  can't  do  that,  ma'am.  I  must  go  back.  She 
must  go  back.  Don't  you  say  no  to  that !  You  '11  kill  me — 
kill  me  !  I  won't  leave  her  ;  she  must  n't  go  out  of  my  sight 
a  moment,"  he  exclaimed,  with  deep  feeling,  and  taking  Carrie 
directly  by  the  hand — "  You  must  not  separate  us — no,  no  ! 
Never,  never,  never !  Eh,  Cany,  eh  ?" 

"  No,  dear  Davy ;  I  will  not  leave  you,  rest  assured,"  said 
Carrie,  quickly.  "  We  will  arrange  every  thing  to  their  satis 
faction.  We  Avill  all  go  back,  together,  perhaps.  Give  your 
self  no  uneasiness  on  this  score,  I  will  never  desert  you,  while 
you  and  I  live — never  /"  repeated  Carrie,  affectionately.  And 
she  never  did. 


CHAPTER   LXVIII. 

"A     MAN     OVERBOARD." 

But  evil  was  bis  good, 

For  all  too  long  in  blood  had  he  been  nursed, 
And  ne'er  was  earth  with  verier  tyrant  cursed ! 

SOUTIIEY. 

"  MAN  overboard !"  and  the  cry  was  caught  up  eagerly,  and 
passed  from  niouth  to  mouth,  "A  man  overboard — a  man 
overboard." 

The  night  was  pitchy  dark,  and  the  pilot  had  kept  a  good 
look-out  for  the  first  three  hours  after  the  boat  got  under 
weigh.  But  he  was  closely  followed  by  an  opposition  steamer, 
and  it  took  all  his  skill  and  exertion  to  keep  away  from  the 
other  craft,  and  make  the  wood-yards  first. 

Bets  were  depending  on  the  Result,  and  most  of  the  ex 
perienced  travelers  were  personally  interested  in  this  way. 
"  Pitch  in  the  resin,  boys !"  was  the  ordinary  suggestion  of 
each  fearless  traveler.  "  Never  allow  yourself  to  be  beat  Avheu 
I  'm  aboard." 

"  Man  overboard !"  was  an  awkward  cry  at  such  a  crisis. 
All  was  now  bustle  and  crowding  and  running  from  one  end 
of  the  boat  to  the  other,  and  every  body  was  inquiring,  "  AVho 
was  it  ?"  but  none  could  answer.  The  rival  boat  was  directly 
behind,  and  the  wood-yard  just  nhend.  How  could  the 


''A     MAN     OVERBOARD."  401 

steamer  stop  to  look  after  people  that  had  carelessly  tumbled 
into  the  river  ?     It  could  n't.     At  all  events  it  did  n't ! 

The  body  of  the  unlucky  individual  passed  directly  astern 
of  the  boat,  and  the  rival  steamer  came  on,  at  once,  hi  her 
wake.  Although  the  sufferer  was  an  excellent  swimmer,  yet, 
before  he  could  cross  between  the  two  vessels,  the  boat  in  the 
rear  was  upon  •  him !  He  was  instantly  run  down,  and  the 
heavy  paddles  thundered  over  him,  at  once  crushing  him  in 
pieces,  as  she  rushed  forward  in  her  headlong  course  ! 

A  buoy  or  two- was  thrown  overboard,  and  a  brace  of  bar 
rels  followed  them.  The  boat  was  then  lowered  away,  as 
soon  as  they  reached  the  wood-yard,  but  no  trace  of  the 
missing  man  was  then  found,  and  the  boats  hurried  off  once 
more,  down  stream. 

"  Who  was  it  ?"  was  again  asked,  as  they  started. 

No  one  could  tell.  The  helmsman  was  sure  he  heard  the 
splash  in  the  water,  but  he  could  see  nothing  afterward  amid 
the  darkness,  and  nothing  could  then  be  ascertained  with  any 
approach  to  accuracy. 

On  went  the  rival  steamers,  puffing  and  fuming  and  strain 
ing — on,  to  the  next  landing.  What  cared  any  body  for  the 
missing  man  ?  It  might  have  been  merely  a  "  nigger"  that 
had  fallen  from  the  vessel's  side ;  or  even  a  deck-hand ;  or 
only  a  poor  emigrant.  If  a  passenger,  his  jare  had  been  duly 
paid  at  starting — and  passengers  on  board  a  western  river- 
steamer  are  universally  considered  to  be  in  that  position  solely 
"  at  their  own  risk  !" 

On,  then,  forward !  No  matter  what  occurs  behind,  pro 
vided  the  boat  you  are  in  is  not  found  there.  Away !  Crowd 
the  steam — shut  down  the  safety-valves — throw  in  the  pitch 


402  THE     RAa-PICKEE. 

beneath  the  already  nearly  collapsed  boilers — keep  up  the 
terrible  fires — and  push  on,  on,  on  !  at  any  hazard,  at  any 
sacrifice ! 

"  Man  overboard !" 

What  if  there  is  ?  The  boat  can't  be  stopped.  What ! 
Stop  a  steamboat  to  save  the  life  of  a  single  human  being  ? 
And  with  a  rival  close  at  the  rudder-post  ?  Hundreds  of 
dollars  in  wagers,  perhaps,  are  at  stake  upon  the  result  of  her 
trip,  too  1  Pooh — never ! 

People  must  not  fall  overboard.  The  "  regulations"  of  the 
boat  make  no  provision  for  rescuing  them,  if  they  do.  The 
order  to  the  masters  and  pilots,  from  the  owners,  is  to  "  put 
her  through  " — and  they  obey. 

Away  rushed  the  two  boats,  and  upon  arriving  at  the  next 
stopping-place,  the  mystery  was  satisfactorily  cleared  up.  The 
lost  passenger  was  Ralph  Taskem,  Esquire,  of  Tennessee  ! 

The  slave-hunter  had  ridden  his  last  race,  he  had  paid  his 
final  debt,  and  had  gone  before  the  "  Judge  of  quick  and 
dead,"  to  render  up  his  last  account. 

His  career  had  been  one  of  turmoil  and  rank  oppression,  for 
many  a  long  year.  And  when  his  Master  called  him  from  the 
sphere  he  had  so  disgraced  in  life,  he  departed — 

"Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung!" 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

THE  NEW  HOME  OF  TONEY  AND  JULIE. 

Green  downs,  ascending,  drink  the  moorish  rills, 
And  yellow  corn-fields  crown  the  heathless  hills, 
Where  to  the  breeze  the  shrill  brown  linnet  sings — 
And  prunes,  with  frequent  bill,  his  russet  wings. 

JOHN  LETDEN. 

AT  the  expiration  of  three  months,  during  which  period 
Toney  Ellson  had  been  busy  in  clearing  out  the  under-growth 
on  the  hill-side  facing  upon  the  little  lake,  and  in  plowing 
and  harrowing  and  sowing,  and  re-arranging  his  newly-pur 
chased  premises,  "  Silverpool"  and  its  surroundings  had  as 
sumed  an  entirely  new  general  appearance. 

Fences,  substantial  and  comely,  surrounded  the  entire  fields 
and  pastures.  A  handsome  and  comfortable  two-story  house 
had  gone  up,  upon  Carrie's  favorite  knoll,  from  the  broad 
piazza  of  which  a  magnificent  view  of  the  country  could  be 
had,  and  around  the  house  had  been  laid  out  a  beautifully 
tasteful  garden.  The  great  trees  that  originally  shaded  the 
ground  now  hung  their  festooning  branches  over  the  roof  and 
eaves  of  his  dwelling.  Below  the  door  there  stood  another 
great  clump  of  magnificent  elms,  and  to  the  right  of  this  a 
sweet  little  grove  had  been  permitted  to  grow,  after  the  first 
clearing  had  been  made  by  him.  The  sloping  lawn  that 
slanted  from  his  door,  down  to  the  very  brink  of  the  shining 


404  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

lake,  was  always  green  and  thrifty,  the  land  proved  easily 
tilled,  the  forests  around  him  supplied  him  with  wood,  and 
here  he  believed  he  could  live  contented,  healthful,  and  happy, 
from  year  to  year,  in  the  pursuit  of  the  avocation  he  so 
heartily  loved,  and  in  which  he  had  thus  far  been  so  successful. 

A  splendid  grove  of  thrifty  oaks  flanked  his  house  on  the 
south,  and  upon  the  north  side,  a  short  distance  from  the 
dwelling,  there  rose  a  high  rocky  eminence  that  sheltered  him 
admirably  from  the  cold  bleak  winds  of  spring  and  winter. 
And  here,  with  his  loving  and  charming  Julie,  in  the  imme 
diate  vicinity  of  Carrie  and  good  old  Davy,  with  health  and 
ample  facilities  for  carrying  out  his  undertaking,  he  felt  con 
fident  of  success  and  happiness  in  the  future. 

Davy  had  invested  his  surplus  money,  from  time  to  time,  in 
the  stock  of  a  manufacturing  company,  located  in  the  heart 

of  the  village  of  E .  Wherever  he  was  known,  he  had 

always  been  highly  respected  for  his  probity  and  integrity, 
and  his  skill  in  his  peculiar  art  had  won  for  him  a  good  name 
and  a  very  flourishing  business. 

Before  he  left  Boston,  he  hinted  to  Ellson  the  probability 
that,  if  he  were  inclined  to  make  such  a  change — which 
seemed  very  desirable  on  the  part  of  his  children — he  could 
undoubtedly  arrange  to  obtain  him  a  situation  that  would 
pay  him  better  (in  the  establishment  where  his  funds  were  in 
vested)  than  that  where  Henry  was  then  located.  The  prop 
osition  pleased  Annie,  and  she  urged  her  husband  to  accept  it, 
if  it  could  be  brought  about. 

Upon  his  arrival,  subsequently,  at  home,  he  instituted  in 
quiries  regarding  the  prospect,  and  was  gratified  to  learn  that 
a  change  in  one  of  the  principal  offices  of  the  cashier's  de- 


T  II  E     N  E  W     H  O  M  E .  405 

partment  of  the  factory,  would  occasion  an  opening  that 
would  afford  a  pleasant  and  lucrative  position  to  such  a  man ; 
and  he  secured  the  offer  of  the  place,  at  once,  for  his  friend — 
whom  he  cordially  commended  to  the  directors  as  a  compe 
tent  and  very  proper  person  for  the  office.  And  within  a 

fortnight  after  his  return  to  E ,  from  Boston,  he  had 

the  satisfaction  of  offering  this  position  to  Carrie's  father,  if 
he  would  take  it  immediately ;  the  remuneration  for  which 
service  was  twelve  hundred  dollars,  annually. 

This  salary  was  considerably  larger  than  that  which  Ellson 
was  then  in  the  enjoyment  of;  and,  considering  all  the  cir 
cumstances  of  the  case,  to  wit,  the  increase  of  pay,  the  fact 
that  Toney,  and  Carrie,  and  Davy  were  there  located,  and  the 
prospect  that  he  could  live  for  less  money  there  than  he  could 
in  Boston,  while  he  had,  at  the  same  time,  promise  of  increased 
facilities  for  adding  to  his  little  worldly  store  at  times — all  in 
fluenced  him  to  resign  his  post  at  the  East,  and  remove,  at 

once,  to  the  village  of  E ,  where  his  children  were  then 

residing. 

There  was  a  month's  delay,  however,  before  he  could  be 
released  from  his  engagements  with  his  former  employers. 
And  then  another  month  passed  before  he  could  finally  get 
matters  settled  so  that  he  could  break  up  his  family  arrange 
ments  with  the  Meekers — with  whom  he  had  jointly  leased 
the  house  he  lived  in  at  Boston.  And  then  another  month 
was  used  up  in  getting  himself,  and  Annie,  and  the  furniture 
out  to  the  place  of  their  final  destination.  And  so  three 
months  elapsed,  and  the  fall  of  the  year  came,  and  winter 
succeeded,  before  Annie  and  her  husband  found  themselves 
located  and  "  cleared  up"  in  their  new  home  at  the  West 


CHAPTER    LXX. 

THE     NEW    PROPRIETOR     AND     THE     OLD. 

\Ve  should  count  time  by  heart  throbs.    lie  most  lives 
Who  thinks  most,  feels  the  noblest,  acts  the  best; 
And  ho  whose  heart  beats  quickest  lives  the  longest. 

P.  J.  BAILET. 

"  WHAT  is  the  prospect,  doctor  ?"  inquired  old  Anthony 
Brittan,  a  few  days  after  the  rencontre  with  Taskern  as  his 
medical  man  examined  his  pulse. 

"  While  you  are  quiet  and  resigned  to  our  treatment  you 
appear  comfortable,  sir ;  but  you  are  seriously  sick,  your  con 
stitution  is  shattered,  and  we  can  only  hope  for  a  fortunate 
termination." 

"  Do  not  deceive  me,  doctor,"  said  Brittan,  calmly ;  "  there 
is  no  'need  of  that.  I  know  I  am  very  sick ;  no  one  can  judge 
of  it  better  than  I.  Whatever  my  fate,  I  am  prepared  to  meet 
it  like  a  man." 

Intense  excitement  and  subsequent  trouble  had  prostrateci 
Anthony  Brittan  beyond  the  hope  of  recovery.  The  fit  into 
which  he  had  fallen  immediately  after  Taskem's  departure, 
nearly  proved  fatal.  It  was  only  by  a  course  of  the  severest 
depletion  that  the  fading  spark  of  life  could  be  revived.  Had 
he  been  surrounded  by  friends,  and  nursed  with  the  tranquil 
devotion  of  those  who  loved  him,  he  might  have  rallied.  But 


THE     NEW     AND     OLD     PROPRIETOR.  407 

deserted,  with  no  one  to  speak  to  save  the  menials  of  his 
household,  and  no  internal  source  of  comfort,  he  became 
weaker  and  weaker  every  day.  What  was  still  more  vexatious 
to  his  proud  spirit  was  the  evident  commiseration  he  excited. 
Every  one  seemed  to  know  that  he  was  a  ruined  and  a  dying 
man.  His  estate,  his  horses,  his  slaves,  his  live-stock,  every 
thing  he  had  owned  in  the  State  of  Kentucky,  was  already 
in  the  possession  of  his  creditors.  He  now  remained  a  mere 
occupant  of  his  former  premises,  until  the  new  proprietor 
come  should  to  displace  him.  He  knew  not  when  that  might 
be,  but  was  in  daily  expectation  of  a  stranger's  arrival. 

Nothing  whatever  had  been  saved  from  the  general  wreck, 
and  Anthony  Brittan,  the  once  lordly,  aristocratic,  hard-hearted, 
wrong-headed,  unforgiving  father  of  Annie  Ellson,  was  now  a 
miserable,  degraded,  broken-hearted  bankrupt,  pitied  but  re 
pudiated,  alike  by  slave-holders  and  freemen,  for  his  egotism, 
his  selfishness,  and  his  duplicity. 

On  the  third  day  after  this  the  sufferer  had  grown  palpably 
worse.  His  pulse  was  much  weaker,  and  his  end  was  evi 
dently  near  at  hand.  But  his  dogged  inflexibility  never 
deserted  him  for  a  moment.  He  insisted  on  remaining  in  an 
easy  chair ;  would  have  but  little  assistance  from  any  one,  and 
seemed  to  take  a  savage  pleasure  in  defying  fate. 

"  How  now,  doctor  ?"  he  asked,  one  morning.  "  Pretty  bad, 
eh  ?  Pretty  bad  ?  Nearly  done,  doctor — eh  ?" 

The  doctor  was  a  good-hearted  man  and  pitied  Brittan,  with 
whose  pecuniary  misfortunes  he  was  not  unacquainted.  He 
saw  that  Brittan  could  not  now  hold  out  much  longer,  for  all 
the  indications  pointed  to  his  early  dissolution. 

"  In  the  natural  course  of  thuigs,  Mr.  Brittan,"  he  said, 


408  THE     HAG-PICKER. 

"  you  can  scarcely  recover.  Wo  have  done  for  you  all  that 
lay  in  our  power.  If  you  have  any  thing  you  wish  to  say,  or 
any  directions  you  will  give,  I  think  you  had  better  not  defer 
attending  to  these  matters  longer.  You  are  very  weak." 

"  In  body,  doctor — in  body,  but  not  in  purpose.  I  feel 
that  my  race  is  run."  He  was  stern,  not  sad.  After  a  pause 
he  resumed  :  "  You  have  been  attentive,  doctor,  and  I  thank 
you.  If  it  had  been  in  the  power  of  medicine  to  build  me 
up,  you  could  have  done  it.  But  the  disease  is  here — here  !" 
striking  his  breast  fiercely. 

The  doctor  admonished  the  Englishman  to  be  cautious  how 
he  excited  himself. 

"  I  am  rational,  now,  and  my  mind  feels  as  clear  as  ever 
it  did.  To-morrow"  said  Brittan,  with  forced  composure, 
"  to-morrow,  the  future  owner  of  this  plantation  takes  posses 
sion  of  it.  It  is  my  intention  to  receive  him  in  a  properly 
impressive  manner." 

A  scarcely  perceptible  motion  of  the  doctor's  lips  attracted 
Brittan's  instant  attention. 

"  I  know  what  you  would  say,  doctor.  You  would  warn 
me  that  I  may  not  be  alive  to  do  so.  You  are  mistaken.  I 
will  live  for  that ;  yes,  I  WILL  !" 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  patient  and  physician 
were  alike  overcome  by  emotions.  They  were  strangely  dif 
ferent,  however. 

"  The  effort,"  continued  Britten,  "  will  probably  cost  me 
my  life,  but  that  is  of  little  consequence.  What  have  I  to 
live  for  ?  If  you  can  make  it  convenient,  doctor,  to  call  to 
morrow  at  a  quarter  past  twelve,  you  will  see  how  far  I  arn 
correct  in  my  prognostications." 


THE  NEW  AND  OLD  PROPRIETOR.      409 

"  I  •will  do  so,  Mr.  Brittan,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  but  I  feel 
it  my  duty  to  warn  you  that  the  slightest  exertion  or  excite 
ment  on  your  part  may  be  attended  with  fatal  consequences." 

Anthony  Brittan  did  not  leave  his  chair  all  that  night.  He 
gave  strict  injunctions  that  he  should  not  be  disturbed  until 
the  morning.  At  twelve  o'clock  the  new  proprietor  was  to 
arrive. 

He  was  too  feeble  to  sleep  soundly,  and  had  he  been  in  ro 
bust  health,  even,  this  luxury  would  have  been  impossible  in 
his  present  agitated  frame  of  mind.  For  a  few  hours  he  was 
busily  engaged  in  arranging  some  papers  from  his  writing- 
desk.  More  than  once  he  opened  the  bottom  drawer  of  this 
article,  and  gazed  earnestly  at  what  it  contained.  Closing  it 
nervously,  as  though  he  could  no  longer  control  himself,  he 
would  subside  into  a  dreamy  meditation.  Shortly  after  mid 
night  he  wrote  a  letter,  sealed  it,  directed  it,  and  left  it  on 
the  table.  The  effort  was  no  ordinary  one,  for  the  man  of  iron 
will  wept  bitterly  as  he  indited  the  few  lines  it  contained. 
*  *  %  %  *  %  * 

The  doctor  had  just  reined  his  horse  to  the  gate,  and  was 
slowly  walking  across  the  lawn  to  the  porch  of  Anthony 
Brittan's  house,  on  the  morning  following  the  above  events, 
when  his  ear  caught  the  sharp  sound  of  fire-arms.  "  Some  of 
the  boys  out  gunning,"  he  said,  and  walked  on.  There  was 
a  traveling-carriage  before  the  door,  laden  with  trunks,  valises, 
etc.  It  had  brought  the  new  proprietor,  who,  equally  punc 
tual  with  himself,  came  precisely  at  twelve.  As  the  doctor 
entered  the  hall,  he  was  surprised  to  observe  a  crowd  of  do 
mestics  gathered  around  the  door  of  Anthony  Brittan's  room. 
Their  countenances  were  frozen  with  horror.  They  looked  at 


410  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

him  with  a  panic-stricken  gaze,  and  pointed  to  the  room. 
With  undefinable  misgivings,  the  doctor  pressed  his  way 
through  the  crowd. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  what  is  this  ?" 

Anthony  Brittan  lay  on  the  ground  a  CORPSE — his  right 
hand  tightly  closed  on  a  pistol,  the  barrel  of  which  was  yet 
warm. 

"  I  came  to-day,  sir,"  said  a  pale-faced  young  man,  who 
had  hitherto  escaped  the  doctor's  observation,  "  by  appoint 
ment.  I  handed  in  my  card,  and  Mr.  Brittan  desired  to  see 
me.  As  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  this  door  he  arose  and 
stopped  me.  '  One  moment,  sir,'  he  said.  '  This  house  and 
all  it  contains  is  yours.  I  can  not  honorably  dispute  your 
claim.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  understand  your  emotions 
in  thus  taking  possession  of  a  ruined  gentleman's  home. 
But  lest  you  should  have  any  mistake  about  mine,  see — 
And  before  I  could  arrest  his  arm,  he  fell  a  corpse  at  my  feet. 
I  never  felt  so  bad  in  all  my  life."  And  he  looked  as  if  lie 
did  feel  bad. 

Thus  Anthony  Brittan  died.  There  were  none  to  mourn 
his  decease,  but  many  to  pity  the  man  whose  ill-spent  life  had 
led  to  such  a  horrible  end. 


CHAPTER  LXXI.     . 

A     HAPPY    NEW    YEAR. 

"Joy !— joy ! — freedom  to-day  1 
Care — care— -drive  it  away  1" 

THE  clear  bright  rays  of  the  morning  sun  were  glancing 
in  through  the  branches  of  thegreat  trees  that  fell  over  Toney's 
handsome  dwelling,  and  the  hills  and  forests,  with  their 
thousands  of  rich  "firs  and  hemlocks  green,"  were  gilded 
with  the  light  of  the  rising  day-god. 

It  was  a  week  after  the  gathering  at  old  Davy's,  and  Toney 
and  Julie  were  to  be  host  and  hostess  on  this  occasion — for  it 
was  Xew  Year's  day — and  they  had  made  a  party  for  the 
family  on  the  in-coming  of  the  new  season. 

"  Happy  new  year,  Toney  !  Happy  new  year,  Julie  !"  rung- 
out  from  a  merry  voice  in  the  broad  hall,  below  stairs. 
"  Happy  new  year  to  you  !  Is  this  the  hour  you  rise  at, 
pray  ?  Why,  Julie  !  A  farmer's  wife,  and  allow  the  sun  to 
get  up  before  you  ?  What  a  lazy  girl.  Where  's  Toney  ? 
Is  n't  he  up  yet,  either  ?  I  've  walked  three  good  miles  this 
morning — come  !" 

It  was  Carrie  Ellson.  She  had  been  abroad  nearly  two 
hours  ;  down  to  the  village  to  hail  her  parents,  and  to  wish 
them  a  happy  now  year;  and  returning  by  the  way  of  her 


412  T  H  K     R  A  (;  -PIC  K  E  K  . 

own  little  home,  she  popped  iu  to  kiss  old  Davy,  and  to  wish 
him  a  hundred  of  them,  at  the  least ;  and  Charlie  Wells,  a 
suspicious  young  villager  with  a  good  manly  countenance 
and  a  sentimental  fondness  for  cascades,  was  close  behind 
her.  She  had  wished  him  a  happy  new  year  three  or  four 
times  over,  always  blushing  very  much,  and  always  forgetting 
in  her  glee  and  joy  that  she  had  done  so  before  at  all ;  and 
to  every  body  she  met  by  the  way  she  extended  the  same 
good  wish — "  Happy  new  year  !"  "  A  happy  new  year  !" 

Toney  had  already  gone  to  the  barns  to  look  after  the 
stock,  and  he  did  not  know  of  Carrie's  coming,  at  all.  Julie 
sprang  out  of  bed  at  her  sister-in-law's  summons,  and  open 
ing  her  eyes,  saw  that  she  had  really  overslept  herself,  nearly 
an  hour ! 

The  morning  was  crispy  and  cold.  The  window-panes  were 
all  crystaled  over  with  frost-work,  and  the  air  was  as  sharp 
as  a  fine  January  morning's  air  need  be.  Julie  sprang  blithely 
to  the  floor  as  she  heard  that  merry  voice,  and  answered : 
"  Coming,  Carrie — coming  !;'  And  then  she  thrust  one  tiny 
warm  foot  into  a  cold  stocking,  and  then  she  hastily  put  on 
the  other ;  and  as  she  did  so  the  color  started  from  her 
cheeks,  and  Carrie  heard  a  most  frightful  shriek  of  "  Ow  ! 
ow  !  Oh,  dear  !  Murder !  murder  !  help  !  Carrie  !  ow  !  ow  ! 
Quick,  Carrie — Carrie,  Carrie  !" 

The  next  instant  Carrie  was  in  the  chamber,  to  find  poor 
Julie  tumbling  about  the  room  and  screaming  at  the  top  of 
her  lungs—"  Ow  !  ow  !  Take  it  off!  take  it  off!  take  it  off!1' 

"  Take  off  what,  Julie  ?  For  pity's  sake,  what 's  happen 
ing  to  you  ?"  cried  Carrie. 

"  Quick — ow  /     Take  it  off !     My  stocking,  my  stocking. 


A     H  A  P  P  Y     S  E  \V      YEAR.  413 

my  stocking  !  Mouse  in  my  stocking  !  mouse  in  my  stock 
ing  !  a  mouse  in  my  stocking  /"  yelled  Julie,  fiercely. 

The  trouble  was  quickly  understood  by  Carrie,  who  as 
quickly  caught  the  toe  of  the  stocking  and  removed  it,  with 
the  offending  monster  held  firmly  within  her  gripe,  to  the 
immense  relief  of  poor  Julie,  who  had  experienced  a  shock 
ing  momentary  fright. 

"Ow  /"  shrieked  Julie  once  more,  probably  because  she  had 
not  been  harmed  at  all.  "  Have  you  got  him  ?  Oh,  Carrie  ! 
have  you  got  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes.  For  pity's  sake,  don't  scream  any  more.  I  've 
got  him,  safe  and  sound,  and  I  've  squeezed  him  as  flat  as  a 
pancake,  to  be  sure  !  See  here  !  Why,  he 's  a  little  bit  of 
a  fellow,  any  way.  I  would  n't  have  yelled  like  that  for  a 
hundred  such,  said  Carrie,  bravely. 

And  as  she  spoke,  the  two  girls  turned  to  the  window, 
gathered  their  dresses  carefully  about  their  feet,  and  Carrie 
turned  the  stocking  "  down  side  up"  to  shake  the  offender  out 
upon  the  carpet. 

"  Take  care  !"  shouted  Julie,  again,  springing  back  upon 
the  bed.  "  Take  care,  Carrie  !  He  '11  bite  !  he  '11  bite  !" 

"This  young  gentleman  never  '11  bite  any  body,"  responded 
Carrie,  as  she  again  pressed  the  substance  in  her  hand  until 
no  sign  of  motion  was  apparent,  and  then  shaking  the  stock 
ing  sharply,  there  fell  out  upon  the  floor  a  bright,  new  one 
hundred  dollar  bank  note  !  Toney  had  placed  it  in  his  wife's 
stocking,  secretly,  for  her  "  new-year's  present." 

The  girls  saw  through  the  joke  directly,  and  Carrie  screamed 
with  laughter,  a  good  deal  louder  than  Julie  had  cried  with 
with  fear,  declaring  that  she  wished  somebody  would  put  such 


414  THE     RAG- PICKER. 

mice  in  both  her  stockings,  every  month  in  the  year !  But 
Julie  insisted  that,  while  it  was  very  kind  in  Toney,  she 
"  would  n't  be  so  frightened  again  for  a  bonnet  full  of  them  !" 

Toney  returned  from  the  stables,  and  "  A  happy  new  year, 
brother !"  greeted  him  as  he  entered  the  house. 

"  Oh  !  such  a  time  as  we  Ve  had  here,  just  now !"  cried 
Came.  "  Did  n't  you  hear  her  scream  ?" 

"  Who  ?" 

«  Julie." 

"  No.     What  has  happened  ?" 

"  Oh  !  such  a  beautiful  little  mouse  as  she  found  in  her 
stocking,  this  morning." 

"  Mouse — in  her  stocking  ?" 

"  Yes — worth  a  hundred  dollars  !"  cried  Carrie. 

"  Oh,  I  sec — yes.  A  happy  new  year  to  her,"  said  Toney, 
smiling  at  the  "  scare"  he  had  so  innocently  occasioned  his 
wife.  But  the  joke  lasted  for  a  by-word  all  the  day  long, 
and  Carrie  did  not  forget  (any  more  than  did  Julie)  for  many 
and  many  a  day  thereafter,  to  thrust  her  hand  into  the  toe  of 
her  stocking  first,  before  she  "  put  her  foot  into  it !" 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  forenoon  the  family  gathered  to 
gether,  once  more.  Toney  and  Julie  were  all  smiles,  and 
contentment,  and  grace,  as  the  host  and  hostess  on  this  happy 
occasion ;  Davy  and  Buff  came  up  together  at  a  seasonable 
hour,  the  old  man  with  his  huge  staff-cane,  and  the  boy  with 
the  new  skates  that  Carrie  had  bought  him  ;  and  lastly  came 
Ellson  and  Annie,  with  Carrie  herself,  again,  accompanied  by 
suspicious  Charlie  Wells,  who  had  not  been  forgotten  in  the 
general  "family"  invitation — 


AHAPPYNEWYEAK.  415 

"  Brothers  and  sisters — children — mother- 
All,  all  restored  to  one  another  ; 
All,  all  returned!" 

and  the  jocund  laugh,  of  childhood,  the  serene  and  gentle 
smile  of  maturer  years,  the  calm  and  sober,  yet  kindly  look 
of  age,  was  present  in  that  little  gathering,  each  in  its  proper 
sphere,  enjoying  the  pleasures,  the  prospects,  and  the  hopes 
of  joyously  passing  hours. 

And  soon  came  the  feast  of  good  things,  prepared  under 
Julie's  direction  for  her  friends — the  rich  round  of  juicy  beef, 
"  clone  to  a  turn,"  the  fat  plum-pudding,  the  golden  pumpkin- 
pies,  which  Carrie  had  taught  her  to  make,  and  the  tasteful 
fruit  dessert,  and  every  body  ate  heartily,  and  gave  thanks. 

And  finally  came  the  sports  and  games  among  the  young 
folks,  who,  as  soon  as  they  had  got  fairly  warmed  up  with 
their  exercise,  drew  Annie,  and  Henry,  and  even  old  Davy, 
into  their  circle,  where  they  evinced  their  joy  and  hilarity 
in  "  blind  man's  buff,"  "  searching  for  the  key-hole,"  "  hunt 
the  slipper,"  and  all  sorts  of  "  forfeiting?,"  during  which  Julie 
was  kissed,  and  Carrie  was  kissed  (suspicious  Charlie  Wells 
not  playing  fair  by  any  means),  a  hundred  times  over,  and 
Annie  Avas  kissed — and  they  all  kissed  Toney,  and  Henry,  and 
Charlie  Wells  (who,  when  questioned,  said  he  liked  it),  and 
Davy,  and  even  the  boy,  "  Buff,"  who  kissed  right  back  again 
(as  if  he  was  no  nigger  at  all !)  and  they  rollicked  and  raced 
to  their  heart's  content,  while  every  body  kissed  good  old 
Davy,  and  Davy  kissed  every  body  else,  and  there  seemed  to 
be  no  end  to  the  love,  and  joy,  and  ecstasy  of  this  gloriously 
happy  gathering ! 

When  evening  came,  they  gathered  around  the  blazing 


416  THE     KAG-PICKER. 

wood-fire.  There  was  no  lack  of  conversation.  Every  one 
had  so  much  to  say  of  the  past  that  the  present  was  entirely 
lost  sight  of  (except  by  Charlie  Wells,  who  did  not  lose  sight 
of  it  for  a  moment). 

Their  lives  had  been  a  routine  of  curious  haps  and  mishaps, 
and  the  numerous  adventures  of  each  of  the  party,  as  they 
referred  in  turn  to  the  events  of  their  previous  careers,  served 
greatly  to  edify  and  please  the  others.  And,  finally,  when  all 
the  rest  had  told  the  stories  of  their  experience,  old  Davy  said 
he  could  relate  a  tale  that  would  amuse  them,  and  which 
would  be  new  to  his  friends,  if  they  would  listen. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  cried  the  company  ;  "  that 's  just  what  we  want, 
to  finish  up  with,  Davy.  Now,  let 's  have  it,  let 's  have  it !" 

"And  what  is  it  all  to  be  about  ?"  queried  Carrie. 

"  I  will  be  the  story  of  the  Rag-picker"  said  Davy,  good- 
humoredly. 

Carrie  smiled  at  this,  but  all  were  anxious  to  hear  Davy's 
story,  for  they  supposed  it  would  be  a  sort  of  autobiography, 
and  they  were  not  very  well  acquainted  with  the  old  man's 
earlv  history. 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 

THE   RAG-PICKER'S   STORY. 

"  As  you  have  often  heard  me  say,"  commenced  old  Davy, 
"  Carrie,  and  you,  Toney — I  am  an  Englishman,  by  birth. 
It  would  not  interest  you  to  hear  of  my  earlier  ups  and  downs^ 
for  there  is  little  in  those  adventures  worth  the  remembering 
or  recalling,  I  am  sure.  And  I  will  pass  over  all  that,  with 
the  single  remark  that,  for  the  first  thirty  years  of  my  life,  I 
was  of  a  wayward,  roving,  discontented  disposition,  not  over- 
ambitious,  and  constantly  unlucky. 

"  I  arrived  in  this  country  over  forty  years  ago.  I  was  pen 
niless  at  the  time,  and  reckless  of  what  became  of  me.  I 
knew  no  one  in  the  country,  nobody  knew  me,  or  seemed  to 
care  to,  either — for  which  I  did  n't  blame  them  ! — and  I  wan 
dered  about  Boston,  where  I  first  landed,  without  any  object 
in  view,  or  any  prospect  of  good  in  the  future. 

"  At  length  I  secured  an  old  sack,  and  I  scoured  the  streets, 
by  night  and  by  day,  in  search  of  rags,  and  bits  of  paper,  and 
scraps  of  iron,  and  lead,  and  brass — any  thing,  indeed,  that 
turned  up  which  could  in  any  way  be  made  use  of  in  the 
future.  By  slow  degrees  I  got  on  in  my  humble  calling,  and 
after  a  few  years  at  this  work,  I  obtained  a  small  shop,  and 
stored  it  with  junk,  and  old  iron,  and  like  materials,  which, 

18* 


418  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

from  time  to  time,  were  then  gathered  by  other  hands  (as  I 
had  at  first  gathered  them),  and  which  were  sold  to  me,  from 
day  to  day,  at  the  current  prices  which  /  established  myself 
upon  these  small  wares.  And  there,  in  my  little  shop,  I  sat 
down  to  enjoy  myself,  and  cared  very  little  for  aught  in  the 
the  world  save  my  own  immediate  comfort,  winch  it  did  not 
cost  much  to  provide. 

"  In  the  course  of  my  experience  I  met  with  a  good  many 
curious  and  interesting  scenes  and  adventures,  one  of  which, 
in  particular,  was  so  important  and  so  strange,  from  beginning 
to  end,  that  I  shall  never  forget  its  details. 

"  There  came  into  my  little  place,  one  day,  a  well-dressed 
man,  who  seemed  to  have  no  particular  object  in  calling,  but 
who  was  cordial  and  pleasant  in  speech,  and  whom,  from  his 
manner  of  conversation,  I  recognized  as  one  of  my  country 
men,  evidently  of  the  better  class.  He  was  somewhat  younger 
than  myself,  and,  after  he  had  spoken  with  me  a  few  minutes, 
lie  went  out.  The  next  day  he  returned  again,  chatted  a  while, 
and  retired.  Thus  he  came  and  went  for  a  month.  I  never 
asked  him  his  name,  ho  never  told  me  what  it  was,  and  sev 
eral  weeks  passed  by,  during  which  we  got  to  be  tolerably 
well  acquainted. 

"  One  afternoon  he  suddenly  broke  in  upon  a  train  of  con 
versation,  entirely  new  with  him,  and  novel  to  me  also,  and  ho 
claimed  my  indulgence.  lie  informed  me  that  he  was  from 
the  same  country  that  I  came  from,  that  he  was  in  difficulty, 
and  asked  me  if  I  would  assist  him. 

" '  You  need  have  no  concern,'  he  said, '  about  compromising 
yourself  in  any  way,  and  I  will  relieve  your  mind,  at  the  out 
set,  in  regard  to  one  point :  I  do  not  want  any  pecuniary  aid, 


THE   RAG-PICKER'S   STOUY.  419 

on  the  contrary,  Davy,  I  will  pay  you  liberally  for  your  confi 
dence  and  your  attention  to  my  interests.  I  can  confide  in 
you,  as  far  as  I  will  trust  any  body,'  lie  continued,  '  because 
you  are  my  countryman,  first,  and  because  I  can  afford  to  pay 
you  for  the  service.' 

" '  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?'  I  asked. 

" '  I  want  to  hire  lodgings  over  your  shop  here,'  he  added, 
'  that  is  all.  I  want  to  come  and  go  when  I  please,  and  I  de 
sire  that  no  questions  may  be  asked  me.  I  will  pay  you  what 
you  charge  for  the  rent  of  the  room  I  may  occupy,  in  advance, 
and  you  shall  not  be  put  to  trouble,  or  risk,  or  inconvenience, 
in  any  manner  by  this  accommodation.' 

"  He  spoke  so  fairly,  and  the  room  he  desired  was  of  so 
little  use  to  me,  that  I  very  gladly  accepted  the  proposal ;  and 
for  two  dollars  weekly,  I  gave  him  possession  of  the  chamber 
directly  over  my  little  store.  This  sum  paid  the  whole  rent 
of  the  building,  at  that  time,  and  I  thought  it  a  good  bargain 
for  me. 

"  He  came  and  went,  as  pleased  him.  I  saw  but  little  of 
him,  save  when  he  came  below,  occasionally,  to  chat  with  me  ; 
and  true  to  my  engagement  with  him,  I  never  asked  him  who 
he  was,  or  what  he  occupied  himself  about.  Indeed,  I  cared 
very  little  about  him,  any  way.  He  was  silent  most  of  the 
time,  always  reserved  in  his  intercourse,  and  cynical  whenever 
he  expressed  opinions.  I  saw  that  he  was  of  a  selfish  dispo 
sition,  and  I  never  fancied  him  much.  But  he  paid  his  rent 
promptly,  and  I  was  content. 

"  He  took  his  meals  at  a  chop-house  near  by,  a  laundress 
came  and  brought  his  linen  regularly,  and  he  seemed  to  have 
little  employment  except  among  his  books  and  papers,  until 


420  T  II  E     H  A  O  -  P  I  C  K  E  U  . 

one  night  there  came  a  strange  but  well-attired  man  to  in 
quire  for  him ;  a  person  whom  I  had  never  seen  before.  This 
man  went  up  into  his  room,  a  long  conversation  followed, 
louds  words  succeeded — which  I  could  make  nothing-  of,  how 
ever — and  the  stranger  departed,  amid  threats  and  denuncia 
tions  that  I  did  not  understand. 

"  A  few  weeks  after  this,  a  woman  called  at  my  shop,  and 
desired  to  see  my  lodger.  She  was  prompt  and  decided  in 
her  manner,  I  thought,  though  sufficiently  lady-like  and  civil. 
She  did  not  appear  to  be  in  very  good  health,  however.  She 
had  a  child  with  her,  a  good-sized  girl,  and  both  were  dressed 
in  black.  She  said : 

" '  You  have  a  gentleman  occupying  a  room  on  your 
premises,  here — an  Englishman,  I  believe.  I  desire  to  speak 
with  him.  Is  he  now  here  ?' 

"  I  announced  the  two  ladies,  at  once,  but  he  refused  to  see 
them  !  And  bade  me  peremptorily,  once  for  all,  if  I  wished 
him  to  remain  there,  not  to  trouble  him  with  these  callers. 
He  would  receive  nobody,  he  said.  And  the  woman  went 
away  sadly  disturbed,  I  thought,  with  this  cold  and  severe 
reply. 

"  A  short  time  subsequently  to  the  ladies'  visit,  I  received  a 
letter  mysteriously,  which,  as  I  soon  learned,  came  from  this 
woman.  She  referred  to  the  late  call  she  had  made  on  me, 
and  besought  me  to  appeal  to  my  lodger  for  aid  in  her  behalf. 
She  was  his  wife,  it  turned  out.  But  he  had  deserted  her, 
for  reasons  which  she  did  not  explain,  though  she  declared 
that  he  was  not  so  much  to  blame  as  were  her  own  relations. 
She  had  married  this  man  in  opposition  to  her  parents'  wishes, 
they  had  abused  and  driven  him  away,  finallv  (as  I  afterward 


THE    RAG-PICKER'S    STORV.  421 

ascertained),  and  they  had  since  died,  leaving  her  portionless. 
Her  husband,  as  it  proved,  was  unforgiving,  and  bitter  in  his 
resentment  of  the  treatment  to  which,  he  had  been  subjected 
by  her  friends,  and  he  would  not  receive  her,  nor  provide  for 
her,  or  be  united  to  her  on  any  terms,  whatever.  This  was  all 
I  learned  for  some  months ;  but  I  found  that  the  bare  mention 
of  the  lady's  claim  irritated  him,  and  so  I  ceased  to  allude  to 
it  altogether. 

"  This  man  had  evidently  committed  some  fault,  or  some 
inexplicable  error  or  other  (which  I  never  understood),  the 
details  of  which  were  in  the  possession  of  the  stranger  who 
first  called  upon  him,  at  my  place  ;  for  this  same  individual 
came  again,  after  a  while  ;  and  when  they  had  had  a  long  inter 
view — not  the  quietest  either,  by  the  way — I  was  suddenly 
summoned  up  stairs  by  my  lodger,  who  pointed  to  a  name 
freshly  written  at  the  bottom  of  a  very  long  document,  and 
said  to  me  excitedly  : 

" '  Davy,  that  is  my  signature ;  please  to  witness  it,  here.' 

"  Now,  as  I  had  never  written  my  name  since  I  came  to 
America,  and  as  I  had  no  occasion  so  to  do,  I  replied,  '  No, 
I  cannot  do  that ;  wait,  and  I  will  assist  you,  though.'  And  I 
called  a  neighbor  up,  who  attested  to  the  signing,  and  soon 
after  the  stranger  took  the  document  and  disappeared. 

"  In  the  room  that  my  lodger  occupied  there  was  very  little 
furniture.  But  I  had  noticed  a  large  old-style  oaken  chest 
there,  which  he  brought  when  he  came,  however.  Subse 
quently  to  the  last  interview  which  he  had  with  the  strange 
caller,  he  became  more  taciturn  than  ever,  went  out  less  often, 
and  at  last  took  sick.  I  attended  him,  called  in  a  doctor,  and 
in  P.  few  rlavs  the  mr,n  got  very  ill.  T  was  alarmed,  so  was 


422  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

his  physician,  for  ho  failed  rapidly.  We  asked  him  if  he  had 
any  thing  to  say  to  us  on  his  own  account,  or  in  regard  to 
any  one  else,  and  he  said :  • 

"  '  Xo,  nothing  !' 

"  Pointing  to  the  old  oak  chest,  however,  the  next  day,  he 
said  to  me  : 

" '  Davy,  keep  it.  See  to  it.  Don't  let  them  have  that. 
Examine  it  when  I  'm  no — ' 

"  And  I  never  got  another  word  out  of  him,  nor  any  body 
else,  i'  faith  !  He  died  that  night  I" 

"  Died  ?"  exclaimed  the  listeners. 

"  Yes ;  and  we  never  knew,  for  many  a  long  day,  what  he 
meant  to  say,  either." 

"  But  what  came  of  it,  at  last  ?"  asked  Toney. 

"I'll  tell  you,  in  a  moment,"  said  the  old  man,  pouring 
down  a  fresh  glass  of  water. 

"  Of  course  I  said  nothing  to  any  one,  but  removed  the  old 
trunk  out  of  sight.  I  felt  that  it  was  a  dying  man's  last  in 
junction,  and  so  I  put  it  aside.  The  strange  visitor  came  to 
my  house  within  a  week,  again,  and  showed  the  dead  man's 
will — the  very  document  which  /  had  had  witnessed,  you  see  ! 
In  this  it  turned  out  that  he  had  bequeathed  his  entire  prop 
erty  to  that  very  fellow,  who  (as  I  told  you),  undoubtedly 
knew  some  secret  of  the  deceased,  and  who  had  frightened 

/  O 

him  into  giving  him  his  estate  in  this  manner,  when  he  should 
die,  to  the  utter  exclusion  of  his  wife's  claims. 

"Every  thing  belonging  to  my  lodger  was  disposed  of.  The 
legatee  took  the  funds,  and,  possessing  himself  of  his  whole 
estate,  he  sat  down  to  enjoy  the  property,  unmolested. 

"  I  had  examined  the  oak  chest  thoroughly,  but  could  find 


THE   RAG-PICKER'S   STORY.  423 

nothing  in  it  but  a  few  old  newspapers  and  some  valueless 
clothing.  I  sounded  it  all  over,  measured  its  proportions,  the 
thickness  of  each  side,  top  and  bottom,  but  could  discover  no 
deception  in  it,  no  secret  compartment,  no  hidden  place  that 
could  inclose  any  thing  ;  and  for  a  time  I  gave  up  my  search. 
But  then  I  determined  to  take  it  entirely  to  pieces,  believing 
that  the  dying  man  must  have  meant  more  than  he  had  the 
ability  to  say,  in  his  final  moments. 

"  I  carefully  took  the  trunk  apart,  by  piecemeal,  and  exam 
ined  every  joint,  and  panel,  and  tenant,  in  the  seams ;  but 
nothing  extraordinary  came  to  light.  I  was  perplexed  and 
annoyed  at  this,  for,  you  see,  what  good  was  it  for  him  to 
enjoin  it  upon  me  to  '  keep  it  and  examine  it,'  all  for  no  pur 
pose  ? 

"  At  last  I  took  my  saw,  and  I  said,  '  At  least  I  can  make 
firewood  of  the  old  trunk,  and  maybe  I  shall  never  hear 
more  about  it ;'  and  at  it  I  went,  I  sawed  the  top,  and  ends, 
and  sides,  into  six  inch  bits,  and  all  was  as  solid  as  oak 
could  be.  I  then  came  to  the  bottom  slab,  which  was  formed 
of  a  single  piece  of  wood,  apparently,  three  fourths  of  an  inch 
thick.  I  put  my  saw  into  this,  and  was  driving  away,  lustily, 
when  I  struck  a  nail,  or  screw,  as  it  seemed,  with  so  much 
force  as  to  ruin  a  dozen  teeth  at  the  stroke  !  I  could  see 
nothing  upon  either  side  of  the  board  that  indicated  the  pres 
ence  of  a  nail  there,  but  it  was  clear  that  something  icas  there, 
nevertheless.  So  I  took  a  chisel,  split  this  board  open,  and 
discovered  a  cavity  in  the  center  of  the  plank,  scarcely  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  deep,  but  so  skillfully  cut  out  between  the 
two  thicknesses  of  wood  that  formed  the  chest-bottom,  as  to 
defy  suspicion.  Tho  iron  lhat  I  had  struck  was  one  of  six 


424  THE     RAG-PIC  KEK. 

'  blind'  screws,  curiously  imbedded  in  the  wood,  which  held 
the  parts  firmly  together.  Upon  separating  these,  I  found 
two  papers  in  the  canty,  laid  out  flat ;  one  was  addressed  to 
me,  and  the  other  was  marked — '  My  last  ivill  and  testament? 
I  snatched  them  quickly  from  their  hiding-place,  and  found  in 
the  envelop  that  had  my  name  upon  it,  four  fifty-dollar  notes. 
The  other  was  my  lodger's  will,  duly  signed  and  witnessed 
by  two  of  my  neighbors,  and  executed  two  days  before  his 
final  sickness." 

"  But  I  understood  you  to  say,"  suggested  Toney,  "  that  his 
will' had  already  been  made,  and  duly  witnessed." 

"  So  I  did.  But  this  one  was  made  several  weeks  subse 
quently,  you  see.  And  it  gave  to  his  wife  and  child,  whom 
it  accurately  designated,  every  particle  of  his  property,  to 
the  exclusion  of  any  one  else  ;  and  at  the  same  time  this  in 
strument  revoked  and  cancelled  the  first  will,  which,  as  I  told 
you,  had  been  extracted  from  him  under  threats  by  the  scoun 
drel  who  had  been  made  the  legatee." 

"  And  did  the  last  one  prove  valid  ?"  asked  Ellson. 

"  Perfectly.  I  found  the  widow  and  her  child  amid  pov 
erty  and  suffering,  for  they  had  nothing  whatever  to  subsist 
upon  except  the  woman's  scanty  earnings ;  and  you  may  be 
sure  that  while  /  was  happy  to  be  the  party  to  bear  to  her 
this  good  news,  she  was  astounded  and  overjoyed  at  the  wel 
come  intelligence.  She  was  worthy  and  well-deserving,  though 
there  had  been  some  trouble  between  the  husband  and  wife, 
originally,  that  I  never  cared  to  inquire  about.  I  had  the 
happiness  to  know  that  the  eccentric  man  had  relented,  in  his 
last  moments,  and  I  saw  the  woman  put  in  possession  of  the 
bulk  of  the  property  within  the  next  three  months." 


THE   RAG-PICKER'S   STORY.  425 

"  What  became  of  the  other  person  ?" 

"  Oli,  he  raved,  and  swore  vengeance  on  her,  and  on  me, 
and  all  that.  But  we  did  n't  mind  it,  you  see.  The  will 
was  clearly  proved,  and  he  was  compelled  to  recede  from  his 
position,  though  he  had  contrived  to  get  rid  of  sixteen  hun 
dred  dollars'  worth  of  the  property,  meantime.  However, 
the  widow  had  enough  left,  and  I  took  my  two  hundred  dol 
lars  gladly,  for  my  own  business  purposes.  In  his  letter  ac 
companying  this  donation,  my  late  lodger  informed  me  that 
he  left  me  this  for  my  attention  to  and  care  of  him  ;  and  I 
retained  the  money  Avith  the  wife's  cordial  approval,  though 
it  proved  a  dear  gift  to  me  !  I  never  learned  any  further 
particulars  of  her  or  her  child ;  they  returned  to  England 
soon  after  the  will  was  audited  and  settled  up,  and  I  heard 
no  more  of  them.  But,  four  months  after  the  discovery  of 
the  final  will,  my  shop  was  one  morning  burned  to  the  ground, 
and  I  escaped  by  the  window  of  the  chamber  only  with  my 
life  and  the  partial  suit  of  clothes  I  chanced  to  have  on  at 
the  moment  I  discovered  the  fire  !  I  lost  every  thing  in  that 
burning,  and  was  reduced  to  absolute  beggary.  It  was  at 
tributed,  at  the  time,  to  my  carelessness,  but  I  have  no  doubt 
whatever  that  it  was  the  work  of  the  man  who  had  extorted 
from  my  lodger  the  first  will.  He  threatened  me  with  venge 
ance  for  the  part  I  had  taken  in  procuring  justice  to  the 
widow  and  child.  He  fulfilled  his  threat  by  reducing  me  to 
beggary  and  jeopardizing  my  life." 

The  old  man  paused  for  a  moment ;  then  looking  round 
at  the  inquiring  faces  of  the  guests,  said,  smilingly  :  "  You 
wonder  why  I  have  told  you  this  long  tale,  and  think,  per 
haps,  that  the  garrulity  of  an  old  man  is  manifested  in  it. 


426  THE     RAG- PICKER. 

Something  more  than  that,  my  dear  children — something 
more  than  that.  The  next  event  in  my  life  was  intimately 
connected  with  you,  deary.  I  saved  you  from  drowning. 
"We  got  acquainted  quickly,  and  I  fell  in  love  with  you. 
Since  then  we  have  not  quarreled  very  much,  have  we,  Car 
rie  ?" 

Ills  beautiful  young  friend  kissed  him  tenderly. 

"  The  Rag-picker's  story,  you  see,  although  humble,  has  a 
grain  of  romance  in  it.  There  is  a  moral  in  it,  too,  and  a 
very  pleasing  one,"  taking  Carrie  by  the  hand.  "  Misfortunes 
are  not  always  the  worst  things  that  can  happen  to  a  man. 
OUR  FATHER  remembers  those  whom  he  chastises.  Thus, 
while  I  lost  every  thing  I  gained  all — all  that  is  worth  liv 
ing  for.  The  smoldering  ruins  of  my  little  store  attracted  all 
the  children  of  the  neighborhood.  Carrie  was  a  '  wee  thing' 
then — a  little  chattering,  singing,  careless  child.  And  she 
came  with  the  rest.  Wandering  from  the  ruins  to  the  dock, 
she  fell  into  the  water.  I  was  fortunately  at  hand  to  rescue 
her.  I  have  never  regretted  the  revenge  that  burned  down  my 
store,  for  that  loss  presented  me  with  this  gain"  And  ho 
pressed  his  darling  close  to  his  side. 


CHAPTER   LXXIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

THE  intelligence  of  Anthony  Biittan's  death  was  some  time 
ere  it  reached  the  Ellsons,  but  it  did  not  for  that  reason  fail  to 
make  a  serious  impression  on  the  little  circle  at  E .  En 
closed  in  the  doctor's  letter  announcing  the  event,  was  one 
from  the  misguided  man  himself.  It  AVOS  as  follows : 

"  Long  ere  you  receive  this  I  shall  be  no  more.  To-morrow 
I  die.  It  is  now  midnight,  and  I  write  this  letter  with  a 
dim  perception  of  duty.  My  life  has  been  a  mistake.  Those 
who  could  have  rendered  it  happy  and  peaceful  were  by  some 
strange  fatality  the  objects  of  my  continued  wrath.  I  have 
estranged  myself  from  all  who  should  love  me.  I  know  it 
now,  and  feel  it  deeply,  deeply.  My  life  has  been  one  of  vio 
lence,  my  death  will  be  the  same.  I  have  no  alternative. 
Beggary  and  worse  than  that,  disgrace,  stare  me  in  the  face. 

"Farewell!  I  have  wronged  you  all — deeply,  wickedly, 
wronged  you !  Think  of  the  heavy  penalty  I  pay  for  my 
transgressions,  and  forgive — FORGIVE 

ANTHONY  BIUTTAN." 

The  Ellsons  were  greatly  shocked,  particularly  Annie  and 
Julie,  and  it  was  some  time  ere  they  recovered  their  usual 


428  T  11  K    n  A  o  -  P  i  c  K  E  r; . 

gayety.  Time,  the  great  liealer  of  all  sorrows,  assuaged  their 
grief  at  last,  and  the  memory  of  Anthony  Brittan  dwelled  with 
them  in  fondness  and  love.  Young1,  generous  natures,  are  for 
getful  of  injuries. 

Toney,  with  his  beautiful  wife,  lived  happily  in  the  house  he 
had  erected  at  "  Silverpool."  The  character  of  the  soil,  and  his 
admirable  cultivation  of  it,  won  for  his  farm  quite  a  local 
reputation.  In  a  few  years,  however,  there  was  something 
more  than  the  crops  to  attend  to.  A  cluster  of  youngsters 
nestled  round  his  knee,  and  clothed  the  father  in  a  holier 
love. 

Mr.  Ellson  was  doing  remarkably  well  at  his  new  place, 
and  every  one  with  whom  he  had  business  was  pleased  with 
him  and  his  management.  The  tranquil  joy  of  Annie  at  being 
again  re-united  to  those  she  loved  so  dearly,  gladdened  her 
declining  years  with  the  rich  glow  of  an  autumnal  sunset. 
She  now  knew  indeed  what  Avas  happiness.  The  Ellson's  fre 
quently  heard  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meeker,  who  constantly  cor 
responded  with  them  after  they  left  Boston,  and  who  con 
tinued  to  live  on  quietly,  prosperously,  and  happily,  and  never 
omitted  the  opportunity  to  do  all  the  good  they  could,  in 
their  humble  way. 

Katty  and  Nappo  were  safe,  in  Canada,  beyond  the  reach, 
now,  of  arrest.  They  made  excellent  servants,  and  had  no 
difficulty,  even  in  a  free  country  (where  the  slave-owner  can 
not  conceive  how  the  poor  "  niggers"  can  live  !)  in  procuring 
a  plentiful  subsistence,  and  even  in  laying  by  something  (as 
these  two  fugitives  did),  "  for  a  rainy  day." 

Davy  never  recalled  the  scenes  he  had  passed  through  (not 
forgotten,  however),  in  which  Henry  Ellson  figured,  years 


CONCLUSION.  429 

before,  to  such  disadvantage.  He  kept  his  own  counsels,  and 
was  rejoiced  to  observe  tbat  the  once  unfortunate  man  had 
totally  reformed,  and  that  he  was  now,  again,  a  land  and 
faithful  and  loving,  as  well  as  a  repentant  husband. 

Time  passed  on.  Charlie  Wells  grew  more  suspicious 
every  day.  He  was  a  handsome  young  man  (with  whiskers 
too).  At  length  he  threw  off  all  disguise,  and  boldly  offered 
Carrie  his  hand,  which  she  kindly  accepted,  provided  Davy 
would  consent  to  the  marriage.  Charlie  was  in  a  good  busi 
ness,  at  last,  by  means  of  his  father's  aid,  and  he  was  not  re 
fused  when  he  respectfully  appealed  to  old  Davy  for  his  con 
sent  to  take  Carrie  away. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Charlie  ?"  asked  Davy. 

"  Past  twenty-one,  sir." 

"  How  long  past,  Charlie  ?" 

"Almost  a  fortnight,"  said  Charlie,  humbly. 

"  Well — well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  you  're  old  enough,  I 
suppose,  and  Carrie  loves  you  almost  as  well  as  I  love  her. 
I  shall  rot  refuse  you,  but  I  shall  insist  upon  applying  one 
condition  to  your  marriage." 

"What  is  that,  sir?" 

"  I  have  said,  Charlie,  that  I  would  not  give  up  this  prop 
erty  while  I  am  living ;  and  I  won't.  But  this  estate  is 
Carrie's — all  of  it — nevertheless.  I  've  made  out  the  deed, 
and  my  will  is  ready  for  record.  But  I  can't  vacate  my  little 
house — at  present.  Now,  you  may  go  to  work  on  the  hill, 
yonder,  and  you  shall  erect  such  a  cottage  as  pleases  your 
fancy  and  Carrie's  tastes,  and  I  will  pay  for  it.  It  shall  be 
yours  and  hers.  And  when  it  is  finished  I  will  furnish  it  for 
you,  for  Providence  has  blessed  me  with  ample  means,  and  it 


430  THE     RAG-PICKER. 

is  all  Carrie's — all  lier's,  Charlie — all,  when  I  've  done,  you 
see." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Charlie,  gratefully. 
"  I  had  no  expectations  like  this,  I  assure  you  !'' 

"  I  don't  believe  you  had ;  and  if  I  thought,  for  a  moment, 
that  you  sought  my  Carrie's  hand  with  any  mercenary  mo 
tives,  I  should  long  since  have  forbidden  you  to  approach 
her.  No,  Charlie,  I  am  satisfied  that  you  love  her  for  her 
self;  and  she  is  worthy  of  you.  I  know,  also,  that  she  loves 
you,  and  therefore  I  consent  to  your  union.  Build  your 
house,  then  ;  and,  when  all  is  ready,  take  her ! — and  may 
Heaven  bless  you  !" 

It  was  a  hard  thing  for  Old  Davy  to  give  Carrie  up,  but  he 
would  not  put  himself  between  her  and  happiness  ;  and  so  he 
said : 

"  I  shall  see  you  often,  Carrie — very  often  ;  always,  every 
day.  You  will  be  happy  with  Charlie,  for  he  is  a  good  boy, 
and  I  shall  always  be  near  you,  in  the  little  cot,  here.  Take 
him,  and  God  bless  you  !" 

Toney  took  charge  of  the  boy  Buff,  and  put  him  in  train 
ing  for  a  farmer ;  and  the  little  fugitive  did  not  disappoint 
him,  but  proved  himself  in  every  way  worthy  of  the  favor  of 
his  benefactor,  who  never  permitted  him,  after  he  came  to 
"  Silverpool,"  to  call  him  "  massa"  again. 

The  cottage  was  finished  and  furnished  with  incredible 
rapidity,  and  another  party  came  off  now,  at  Ellson's  dwelling, 
in  the  village.  It  was  the  wedding-party  of  Charles  Wells 
and  Carrie  Ellson,  who  were  united  in  marriage  at  the  resi 
dence  of  her  parents,  and  who  immediately  afterward  took 


CONCLUSION.  431 

possession  of  their  pretty  place  on  the  hill-side,  which  Carrie 
christened  the  "  Cascade  House" 

"  Bless  them  !  God  bless  them  !"  exclaimed  good  old  Davy, 
with  all  the  earnestness  of  his  fatherly  heart,  as  they  finally 
departed  for  their  cottage  home.  "  God  bless  iny  darling- 
Carrie,  and  may  she  never  hereafter  know  a  pang  of  sorrow7 !" 


THE     END. 


A     000  033  207     2 


